Learning from History
by Candyland
Summary: An L/L reincarnation fic. A student who hates history finds himself sitting in the classroom of an oddly familiar professor who might make him change his mind.
1. The First Day of Class

**AN:** Yes, I'm writing L/L. Hush XD This was for a prompt on the fanworks meme over on LJ, which was for Luke and Layton being reincarnated into modern times as a college student and college professor (respectively), and the stuff that happens. Since I'm de-anoning, I figured I would post it here as well. I don't own Professor Layton!

**The First Day of Class**

With a yawn that was only slightly exaggerated in length and volume, Lucas dropped his bag to the ground beside the chair he had decided was to be his for the duration of the class and then sank into the chair. Once situated, he folded his arms on the top of the desk and put his forehead on them. Why did the first day of classes have to be so confoundedly long and so confoundedly boring?

…all right, so it was not entirely the fault of his professors. The truth was that he had not slept well the night before. Another of those odd dreams, one of many that had been plaguing him with an alarming frequency as of late. Last night's was one he had had before: he dreamed of being a child on a ship that was sinking. The last thing he had remembered before waking up was being in the cold water, not being able to breathe, and trying to call out to…

To someone. He did not know who. But he sensed that it was someone important.

And he had spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling through the darkness of his dorm room, trying to figure out who in the world that someone could be. And for that matter, why he was on a ship like that. Lucas had never been on a boat in his life, period, let alone a massive ship like that. It reminded him of pictures he had seen of the Titanic, or that cheesy movie.

Something thwapped him on the back of the head, and he lifted his head. "What?"

"Better not be dozing off," Clark said warningly, waving a folder which it could be assumed had just been used to bap his friend on the head. He dropped into the adjacent seat, his own bag thudding to the ground by his chair. "I've already heard about this prof. He's supposed to be one of the best there is here. Like, you'll actually enjoy history by the time he's through with ya. So try to stay awake."

"If he makes me like history, then he's a freakin' miracle worker," Lucas shrugged. He propped his elbows on the desk and pressed his eyes to the heels of his hands. God, he was tired.

"You okay, man?"

Lucas managed a smile. "Wiped out. Didn't get much sleep last night." He chuckled. "Weird dream…"

Clark was silent a moment, then put on a weird accent. "Tell me about your childhood."

"Quit it."

"What's your problem?"

One hand carded absently through brown hair. "I dunno…" Lucas sighed.

"…that dream really weirded you out, didn't it?" Clark said after a moment.

"Brilliant deduction."

"What happened?"

It didn't take Lucas terribly long to relate what he could remember of his nightmare. Some of the details were fuzzy, to be sure, but overall, he was almost startled at how well he remembered it. He usually was not one to remember his dreams like this.

When he was done, Clark let out a low whistle. "That's…" he seemed to search for the right word before deciding on, "…really weird. You ever been on a boat?" When Lucas shook his head, Clark grinned. "Maybe you were on the Titanic in a past life?"

"Don't be an ass."

As they had been sitting there, bickering and discussing the odd dream that had left Lucas so exhausted, the rest of the class had been filing in. Many were opening laptops or pulling out their books, which reminded the two friends that they were, indeed, in a class and should probably at least put up some sort of impression of preparedness and interest. Both boys fished into their respective bags and dragged out computers, books, and a couple of writing utensils for safety's sake.

And just in time.

The door opened, and a man walked in with several books under his arm. He set them on the table and seemed to arrange things for a moment before he regarded the class with a congenial smile. "Good afternoon," he said as the clock tower on the campus chapel began to ring out the one o'clock hour. "My name is Hewitt Leighton. Welcome to the History of Western Civilization."

The entire class was already engrossed. He was handsome, probably nearing middle age, and dressed neatly, mostly in brown. The stack of books beside him seemed a clear indicator of how much they were going to be expected to learn in this class, but at the same time he was giving off this air that he could be anyone's best friend, the kind of person you could sit and talk with over lunch.

Suddenly, the man straightened and walked back over to the door and left the room. Everyone waited a moment, a bit confused, until he returned, this time holding a travel mug in his hand. "I apologize. I'm one of those people who can't function without this."

"Coffee?" another young man in the class asked.

He took a sip and smiled. "Not quite. But I can tell you everything you ever wanted to know about tea."

A few people chuckled, and one person raised their hand. "What should we call you?" It was a reasonable question, to be sure. Some professors permitted their students to call them by their first name, whereas some preferred the respect of the last name and an honorific.

Leighton thought for a moment. "Most have taken to calling me the Professor. I rather like it. But now comes the difficult part," he looked around. "You all just have one name to learn, whereas I have so many. So let's see…" He flipped open a roster and began reading names, studying each face as they replied as though to memorize them. Occasionally he would make a comment, whether it was to inquire about the pronunciation of a name or to joke about the team logo on someone's sweatshirt.

When Lucas heard his name, he obligingly raised his hand, and tried very hard not to look as bored as he felt (although he did have to admit that he already rather liked the professor for this class, so that was a plus). But he was surprised when the Professor smiled and said, "You're not a fan of history, are you?"

No reason to lie. "Not really."

"Graduation requirement, then?"

"More or less."

"Fair enough," the Professor said with a chuckle. "I get that a lot. History is not for everyone. But we'll see what we can do for you, Lucas." And he went on, continuing down the roster with the next name.

In spite of himself, Lucas felt himself smile at the short exchange. He really liked this professor.

The first day was much as to be expected. Introductions came first, and then the syllabus was passed out, and they went over it, discussing high points and important projects. As class was winding down, the Professor closed his syllabus and gestured for all of them to do the same before he asked, "Now, is there anything you would like to ask me before we dismiss?"

To his own surprise, Lucas felt himself raise his hand. "What do you do in your free time?"

He immediately wanted to smack himself in the face. What had prompted that?

Amazingly enough, the Professor did not seem at all fazed by the question. "Well, let's see. I enjoy reading, of course. I'm afraid I would die without my tea. And I do enjoy puzzles. In fact, let's see if any of you are still awake and thinking after having to listen to half a dozen identical syllabi today. I realize that such a lack of activity can turn one's brain to pudding."

As they all chuckled, he stood and walked around to the wipeboard, picked up a blue marker, and drew a series of lines that vaguely resembled a very boxy dog. He stepped back and gestured to it. "As you can see, there is a reason why I am not an art teacher. Now I can't remember where I saw this one, but here you have a dog. Sort of. This dog is walking down the street, like you do. Now imagine it gets hit by a car and flattened."

One girl gasped, and a few others rolled their eyes.

Professor Leighton held up the marker and offered it to the class. "Does anyone think that they can make this walking dog look like it would after being run over by moving two of the lines?"

There was a pause.

Lucas was not normally one had paid a great deal of attention to things like riddles or mindteasers. But when presented with this particular puzzle, he knew the answer almost immediately. If he had not known better, he would have almost thought that he already knew the answer somehow. And again he raised his hand. "I can do it."

He got up and walked to the front of the room and took the offered marker. He erased one of the dog's front legs and one of the back legs and redrew them on the other side. Instead of looking like a walking dog, it now looked like its legs were splayed on either side, as though it had been flatted.

"There," he said when he was finished. He capped the marker and returned it to the holder at the bottom of the wipeboard before returning to his seat.

The Professor looked pleased. "Well done. Don't forget the reading assignment for Wednesday. This completes your obligatory reminder. And with that, class is dismissed." He waved them off.

Clark seemed amused as they began gathering their things. "What the hell was that?"

"I have no idea," Lucas grumbled. "It wasn't like it was hard or anything."

"But you didn't even think. You just jumped," Clark said.

"Whatever."

That night, Lucas had another of his odd dreams. This time, he dreamed of a Ferris Wheel, tall and decrepit amidst the remains of what looked like a very old theme park. It was perhaps the least threatening dream he had had in quite some time.

But for whatever reason, he woke up in a cold sweat.

Lucas had never liked Ferris Wheels.

_**-o-**_

"So what do you think?" Clark asked, laying his book on his comforter and promptly resting his head on the smooth pages. "I still think history is boring as hell, but the Professor seems kinda cool."

Lucas didn't answer right away. For whatever reason, when he kept trying to read the assignment they had been given for the history class, he would hear the words being read in the Professor's voice inside his head, and it was disconcerting. He could not decide if it was a comfort, given that he liked the Professor, or incredibly creepy, given that he had known the man for all of about half an hour as of the previous afternoon.

Finally, he went with a noncommittal "I don't know," and turned the page.

"…Luke, you've been acting weird since class yesterday. What's the problem?" Clark said after a brief pause. He shifted to look at his friend with an expression bordering on concern.

"It's hard to explain. But have you ever had the feeling that you've met someone before, even though they're a complete stranger? Or that you feel like you've known someone your whole life, but you just met them?" Lucas asked, then frowned. "And you know you're the only one who calls me that?"

"Luke, Lucas, same diff," the reply came with an airy wave of the hand, as though to just dismiss the concern as nothing. "But you think that about the Professor?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno. I've never felt that, but I gotta admit, he's got that vibe," Clark rolled over onto his back. "Never met anyone with a tea addiction, though. Usually it's coffee or Mountain Dew or something." He paused, then sat up with a grin. He did his best impression of the Professor's low tenor. "I'm the Professor. I drink the tea around here!"

"…you're an idiot," Lucas said in a deadpan. "Come on, let's just get this reading done." For some unknown reason, despite his overall distaste for history, he felt like somehow, he did not want to disappoint this particular teacher.

_**-o-**_

As far as Lucas was concerned, there were many things less interesting to discuss on the first real day of a class than Stonehenge. But as an introduction to ancient civilizations, that was what Professor Leighton had started them on. It was a very recognizable structure, and surrounded by mystery, and the discussion ended up being quite lively.

Lucas found himself paying close attention to the Professor, not entirely in the sense of listening to the lesson, but more trying to figure out what it was about the man that was so blasted familiar. But there were no answers to that pressing question.

Instead, he just found that the Professor was a very easy going, congenial man with a good sense of humor. Case in point: he seemed amused when he put up a picture of Stonehenge, and one of the boys starting singing the theme song from _The X-Files_. And then he allowed a brief discussion over the reality or lack thereof of aliens and UFOs before returning the class to the actual lesson.

It was odd, though. Lucas had always adopted a rather poor view of history. As far as he was concerned, someone somewhere a long time ago once did something and had fun. That was history. End of discussion. But listening to the Professor describe it? It almost because…

Interesting.

Dynamic.

_Fun._

Lucas shuddered. Obviously, there had to mind altering drugs involved in this, because there was no other explanation. Perhaps something in that tea the Professor was always sipping from? But how would that work to affect him? Perhaps it was some sort of an experiment…

He got so wrapped up in his conspiracy theory that he barely even noticed that class was being dismissed. A tap on the shoulder jolted him out of it halfway through his developing mental rhetoric that there were actually cameras hidden behind the dry erase board at the front of the room. He looked up to see Clark standing next to him, looking embarrassed, and Professor Leighton standing in front of his desk, arms folded and eyebrow raised.

"Err, I was just…" Lucas stammered as he noticed that everyone else in the class had already left.

"What was going on inside your head that was so fascinating, my boy?" the Professor asked. Strangely enough, he did not sound terribly angry. More amused than anything else.

_Luke, my boy._

…the words jumped into his mind, unbidden, but it sounded right. He nearly choked on his words, but managed to right himself quickly and admitted, "I was thinking about something only partially related to your class, Professor."

"Partially related?" Leighton said. "That's almost a breath of fresh air. Usually students who are staring off into space intently enough that they miss the end of class are thinking about something completely unrelated to the lesson." A pause. "And frequently nothing to be repeated in polite company."

Clark, meanwhile, had slipped out of the room, probably expecting that there was to be trouble.

"Well, I was thinking that there must be some sort of an experiment going on here or something," Lucas said. "Like, I dunno…brainwashing or something like that. It's the only explanation."

"For what?"

"For me actually finding this stuff interesting."

His blunt honesty was rewarded when the Professor laughed out loud. "I'm willing to let you off the hook for that excuse alone," he chuckled, and Lucas was relieved. Again, that weird feeling that he did not want to disappoint this man.

He rose and tucked his book safely into his backpack before shouldering it. He nearly walked out of the room, then hesitated and turned back. "What would the penalty be if you weren't letting me off the hook, Professor?" he asked.

After a moment of thought, Leighton replied, "Oh, I'd probably have you come to my office to help me with some research or some such thing. I'm a terrible ogre, aren't I?"

Lucas swallowed hard. He didn't know why he was doing this, but he was going to anyway. "What if I might like to do that anyway?" He was crazy, he was losing his mind, what the hell was in that tea??

The Professor actually looked startled. It seemed pretty obvious that although his classes were admittedly very popular, it wasn't every day that a student who had professed to dislike history as much as Lucas had was offering to spend some of their free time assisting him with his research. But after a moment, Leighton nodded. "All right. When would you like to come up to the office?"

Once again, Lucas was surprised to feel himself grin. "When do you need help?"

* * *

**PS.** _Back when I first started writing for this fandom, someone suggested to me that I should write Luke/Layton. My response was more or less (though not in these exact words) "cold day" and "Hell." I hope the little imps are enjoying their snowball fight. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	2. Extracurricular Activities

**AN:** Continuing on. I don't own Professor Layton.

**Extracurricular Activities**

"You're doing WHAT?" Clark gaped openly from the other side of the table, his grilled cheese sandwich forgotten in his hands, poised halfway to his open mouth.

Lucas met the stunned look with a total deadpan. "You heard me."

"Let me get this straight. You're offering to help a prof in a subject you hate do some stuff for a reason you yourself can't even begin to describe?" Clark asked. When he got no reply, he sighed and lowered his sandwich back to his tray. "It's official, Luke. You're crazy."

"I know."

"I mean batshit."

"Shut up."

"Off your rocker."

"I get it!" Lucas snapped, digging his fork into his pasta and twirling it around, watching as the long, thin spaghetti noodles wrapped themselves around his fork. "I don't know why I did it. But I just felt like I should. I wanted to. And I still kind of want to. Maybe it'll be interesting. Heh, maybe it'll help me declare a major. My parents have been freaking out about that."

"Pfft," Clark made a sound that reflected exactly what he thought about parents and their tendency to worry and panic over what he viewed to be insignificant things. "There are more important things in life than picking a major your freshman year."

More important things? That could only mean one thing. "Okay," Lucas sighed. "What's her name?"

Clark scanned the room, then pointed to a table on the other side, where three girls were sitting. "The one with the long brown hair in a ponytail." The girl in question was quite pretty, round faced and blushing. "Her name's Daisy. She's in my Environmental Science class."

"Heh, you always did have an eye."

"Told you so," Clark said with the air of one who thinks he knows all. "We need to find you a girl."

Lucas blanched. He really hadn't given any thought to the university's population of the fairer sex, though he was aware that there were some very pretty ones wandering around. First he had been preoccupied with moving in (though having a friend from high school at the same school was a big help), and then starting classes. Add the strange dreams into the mix, along with the fact that he was somehow being drawn to a professor who taught a subject he hated…

Lucas was, to say the least, extremely confused.

"So what are you going to be helping him with?" Clark asked.

"I'm not entirely sure. He said something about research. That was it."

"Hmm…maybe researching whatever drugs he's using to make you like his class?"

Lucas had to laugh out loud at that. "Maybe I get to be a human test subject!" But as he shoveled a forkful of noodles into his mouth and chewed, he still had to wonder exactly what he was getting himself into, and why he was doing all of this.

_**-o-**_

It was evening, several days after the exchange that had let up to this. There had been two more classes with the Professor, and a weekend to boot, and now Lucas was on his way up the stairs in the social studies building. Leighton's office was on the top floor, of course.

Lucas noticed that the building seemed a lot different in the dark, after the sun went down. During the day, it was alive and filled with people, all bustling around, making noise and talking as they tried to get up and down the stairs and through the narrow hallways with a minimum number of casualties. Now…

Now it was like something out of one of the ghost stories they used to tell during school trips, at the back of the bus after the sun had gone down. Shadows lurked around every corner, and the silence almost seemed louder than the usual noise of the hustle and bustle ever did. For a few brief seconds, he could have actually believed the place to be haunted.

That thought alone was enough to quicken his step, and he finally reached the top floor, where a single light was still glowing through an open door. That was the office, and he paused outside the room proper, opting instead to tap on the doorframe rather than just barge in. The Professor was sitting at the desk, bending over something. He seemed to be studying it quite intently.

At the knock, he looked up, and a wide smile broke on his face. "You came."

Taking that as an invitation to enter, Lucas stepped past the threshold. "You sound surprised."

"Would you be offended if I said that I was?"

"Nope!" he set his bag down on an empty chair near the door and walked over to the desk. "So what are you working on? What can I help you with?" He looked at the thing on the desk that the Professor had been so eagerly studying: a piece of parchment, covered in some sort of writing that Lucas had never seen before. "What is that?"

The Professor smiled. "Ancient Mayan runes, my boy. A friend of mine is involved in a dig in South America, and he was good enough to send me this for the purposes of study and translation."

Lucas was feeling a bit sassy. "I usually just write my shopping list on a three by five card."

A chuckle. "Very clever. Have a seat."

Staring at the parchment, Lucas quickly realized that he hadn't a clue what in the world the thing said, and he said as much after approximately ten seconds of staring at it. "They're little pictures."

The Professor smiled. "Perhaps we should look at something else?"

A surprised blink. "There's other stuff?"

There was a pause as the Professor took a drink from the ever-present mug of tea on the desk beside him, something that was quickly becoming a running joke amongst his students. Then he withdrew a small box from beneath his desk and set it carefully on top of the desk. Upon opening it, Lucas found himself looking at several small somethings, wrapped in paper and cloth.

"Tell me, Lucas," the Professor said, "do you like puzzles?"

"I guess so," the student shrugged. "I really never gave it much thought until that first day of class, where we drew the dead dog with the lines on the board. But that was kind of fun."

"Ah, yes. That puzzle is actually intended to be done on a table with matchsticks, but a quick drawing on the board serves just as well in a classroom setting," Leighton chuckled. "But if you like puzzles, my boy, then I think you will enjoy this. Put these gloves on, and then help me unwrap these, but be very careful. They're one of a kind."

"You trust me with something like this?" Lucas asked incredulously as he obediently shoved his hands into the pair of white rubber gloves he had been handed.

"Is there a reason I should not?"

"No…"

"Then let us begin."

Slowly, they unwrapped the items in the box, revealing them to be bits of clay with broken, jagged edges, and something engraved and painted across them. Lucas was already seeing the pattern, and realizing what the Professor had meant when he had called this a puzzle. These pieces were meant to fit together into one big something. What that something was, Lucas was not completely sure, but given that it was thin clay, he thought he might be able to take an educated guess.

"It's a jar. Or a jug. Or something like that," he said as the last piece was set on a black mat the Professor had produced and set on the desk between them. "Right?"

"Correct!" Leighton said; he seemed pleased. "The trick now is simply putting it back together."

"This many pieces?" Lucas said with wide eyes.

"Think of it as a jigsaw puzzle, my boy. A three-dimensional puzzle, and nothing more."

Somehow, that made it easier to swallow, although he was still terrified that he was going to somehow manage to drop one of the pieces and smash it into millions of shards that would never be put back together. But he kept his hands relatively steady and picked up two pieces, one of which looked like it had a person's head engraved on it, and the other had a shoulder and an arm. And he carefully laid them next to each other.

"I got the first two!" he said, surprised at how cheerful he felt about it. "Your turn!"

It became almost a game, trying to see who could find the next piece the fastest. And Lucas was realizing a couple of things that he had never known about himself: he had a very good eye for detail, and he really did like puzzles. And judging by the way he was going through this and finding pieces and putting it together, he had the potential to be very good at them.

By the time they had laid the pieces out in a flattened reconstruction, the clock on the wall was chiming to alert them that it was a quarter to midnight. They had been at this for hours, yet the time had gone by as though it had only been minutes.

Lucas sat back in his chair for the first time since they had started, wincing slightly as his back muscles protested being kept upright for as long as they had. "Where in the world did the time go?" he asked. The gloves were quickly stripped from his hands and deposited in the wastebasket beside the desk.

"It's said to fly when you're having fun," Leighton said, also disposing of his gloves. "I do appreciate the help, Lucas. Thank you for coming in. This was quite enjoyable." He rose and reached for a brown coat and hat hanging neatly on a rack by the door. "But I think we should call it a night."

Lucas slung his backpack over his shoulder and waited while his professor put on his coat and picked up his own bag. But the student did have to stop and stare at the hat on Leighton's head. "Professor," he began slowly, "have you always worn a hat like that?"

Leighton paused with the hat in question halfway to his head, and brought it down to look at it a bit more closely. It was a top hat, brown with a red band around it. "I suppose so. It was a gift a long time ago. I just took to wearing it," he said, place it on his head.

For a moment, Lucas was silent. Then he said, feeling very odd as he did so, "It suits you." Realizing just how weird that sounded, he quickly added, "If I tried that on, it would look really stupid."

A chuckle. "I've been told that my tastes are a bit out of the ordinary, yes." He gestured to the door. "Shall we go? I'm sure you have other studying to do." They paused outside as Leighton locked the door, and then they began walking down the stairs together.

"I don't get it," Lucas said after they'd been walking a few steps.

"What?"

"Why was that fun? I hate history. Always have. So why the heck did I have fun putting an old dirty jar back together?" he asked. He was now convinced, given the evening and the conversation, that if he ever saw a filthy jar anywhere ever again, he was going to be reminded of puzzles.

Leighton thought a bit before answering. "I would be the first to admit that history can be a bit boring if it's simply being read out of a textbook, my boy. But as you have seen, there is quite a difference between reading the words on a page that tell you about pottery, and actually holding the pottery in your hands and seeing it for yourself."

"It's a lot more interesting like that…" Lucas admitted. They were leaving the building now, walking out into the autumn night. It was starting to cool down just a bit, and there was the barest hint of a breeze. "Well, I guess I'll see you next time we have class?"

"I'll look forward to it," the Professor said.

He had gone a couple of steps towards his dorm when he stopped and turned back. "Professor?"

"Hmm?" Leighton paused, a set of car keys in his hand.

"…could I come and help again sometime?" he asked. What had gotten into him lately?

Another beat. Then a smile. "I'd like that very much, my boy."

"Awesome. Okay, great!" Lucas said, feeling very foolish. "I'll see you on Wednesday, then."

"Goodnight," the Professor tipped his hat, and was once again walking towards the parking lot.

Lucas hurried back to his dorm, alternating between thinking about the evening he had just spent and pondering over all the homework he still had to do. When he got inside, he took the stairs two at a time and made it back to his room in record time. It was nearing midnight when he walked in.

Not surprisingly, Clark was still awake and sitting at his desk with his laptop open and a book in his lap. He glanced up. "Where the hell have you been?" he asked bluntly.

"I told you. I was going to help the Professor with some stuff."

"All night?"

"Yeah."

"…I don't even know you anymore," Clark said, and immediately dodged the pillow that was grabbed from a bed and thrown at him. "Just kidding. Geez. So what did you guys do all night?"

"Put a broken jar back together," Lucas said. "That's all."

"Sounds exciting."

"You'd be surprised."

It took Lucas a bit longer than he had anticipated to finish his other studying, given that he kept thinking about that stupid jar and his time spent sitting in the Professor's office. But finally, around one-thirty, he closed his book and changed into pajamas. Clark had been out cold for a good hour, so he quietly turned off the light and crawled into bed.

He dreamed again that night, for the first time in days. This time, he dreamed of a child in a blue cap, riding in a car and staring out the window at a passing dragonfly. Beside him was a man, the driver. He could not make out many details of the man in question, save for the fact that the man was wearing a tall brown top hat.

When Lucas awoke the next morning, he felt very rested indeed.

* * *

**PS.** _There will be a chapter a day on this fic, as it is already written (save for some edits and a couple of extra scenes being added near the end). Thanks for reading, much love!_


	3. Term Papers

**AN:** I don't own Professor Layton.

**Term Papers**

In spite of the enjoyable evening spent chatting over the filthy jar and the Professor's statement that he would not mind having the help again, it was still a full two weeks later that Lucas worked up his nerve and again approached the Professor after class. Leighton was sitting at the table at the front of the room, his ever-present tea at his elbow as he looked over something in the syllabus.

At his approach, the Professor looked up and smiled. "Ah, Lucas. What can I do for you?"

He shifted his backpack. "I was wondering if you had anything you needed help with?"

The Professor raised an eyebrow. "Lucas, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're starting to like history."

Lucas was embarrassed to feel his face heat up a bit, but he managed to drag up a surprisingly confident smirk within the space of a split second and shrug. "Well, maybe I just needed the right teacher?"

As soon as he said it, he wanted to dive under the table and die. Well, maybe not under the table. That's where the Professor's legs were, and it would look extremely wrong if he did that. To say nothing of the potential for being kicked. So maybe he would just jump out the window over there. That would accomplish the same thing in a much smaller amount of time.

Fortunately for his pride, Leighton chuckled; he actually looked very pleased. "And I'm the right teacher? Well, I admit that I'm flattered." He stood, gathering his things into a neat pile. "There are things I would not mind having some assistance with, but first let me ask you a question, my boy." He fixed Lucas with a Teacher Look. "You are aware that you have a paper due in this class next week, correct?"

"…yes."

"Have you started that paper?"

"…"

"I thought as much. Perhaps you should tend to your own schoolwork before helping me with mine?" the Professor said, though not harshly. He tucked his books under his arm. "I will not have your grades suffering for assisting me with my work and research."

It was not unreasonable, and Lucas really had no arguments against the Professor's point. Even saying that he would do it later would probably fall on deaf ears, and rightfully so. But somehow, he could not accept it. For whatever reason, he desperately wanted to spend another evening like that, nestled in the cozy little office on the top floor, surrounded by the fruits of history and the scent of tea…

"How about this, then—why don't I bring my paper with me and work on it in your office? I could keep you company, at least!" Lucas made a mental note to have a work with his mouth and its current trend of running off without checking things with his brain first. Especially when the things his mouth had decided to say sounded so desperately pitiful.

There was a moment where all he could do was stand there with the Professor's curious eyes on him, seemingly measuring him. And then he nodded. "Very well. But I expect you to work, do you understand me?" Somehow, the stern tone did not seem all that threatening when it was tempered by the smile that kept twitching at the corner of the man's mouth.

"I will. I promise!" Lucas said. As he turned and darted out of the room, he made a mental note to stop at the library and actually gather some research materials before he went to the Professor's office later that evening. Given that he had promised to work, it would help if he actually projected some illusion of preparedness for this paper.

…oh yeah, and picking a topic would probably help.

_**-o-**_

The old couch tucked against the back wall of the office was surprisingly comfortable, and offered plenty of space to spread out books and supplies and arrange oneself in a pleasing configuration before getting down to the business of pretending to work. Like so much else in the office, it was dark brown.

"Why do you have so much brown stuff, Professor?" Lucas asked, the question dropping suddenly into the comfortable silence with all the impact of a boulder hitting a puddle.

Leighton looked up and smiled. "Well, for one, it's part of my profession." He chuckled. "I don't know if I mentioned this or not, but my specific field of history is archaeology, the study of human cultures. And a large part of that field is, for lack of a more eloquent term, dirt."

"Why else?" Lucas pressed.

After a moment, Leighton said, "It's less depressing than black. How far are you on your paper?"

Lucas sighed. "It's only a six page paper, Professor." Heh, only.

"And yet you have nothing done for it."

"Depends on what you qualify as 'done,' I guess," Lucas said airily, holding up the book he had been perusing. "Got most of the research taken care of. Now I just have to write the thing."

"My point exactly."

Lucas gave up and went back to his reading. He had randomly chosen something from the syllabus as his topic, and then raced around the library grabbing up as much stuff as he could find for it. Since they had moved up into the ancient European civilizations, he had closed his eyes, jabbed a finger at the page, and now found himself reading about Socrates.

…in spite of everything, though, he couldn't help but be a bit fascinated by the man, and more specifically, the manner of his death and the reasoning behind it all. Letting the room lapse back into that comfortable silence, he pulled out his laptop, propped the books open near him for easy reference, and began to write.

Before he knew it, three pages were behind him, and he had barely scratched the surface. What was it about this room, with its odd wall hangings, strange sculptures, and unique, relaxing scent that just brought out the historian in him? Or was it not so much the room as his company? The Professor was sitting at his desk, and had been working quietly this entire time.

Or at least, he had been sitting at his desk.

A shadow fell across Lucas' laptop, and he glanced up to find the Professor standing over him, holding a mug out to him. Steam rose from the open top in thin, gray-white wisps. "I think you can safely take a break now, my boy," the Professor said amiably. "Tea?"

He had never been one for tea, but suddenly a warm drink did sound divine. He accepted the mug, blew on it carefully, and took a sip. His eyes immediately widened in surprise. "This is wonderful," he murmured, taking another, more confident drink.

Leighton sipped his own tea. "I imagine you've never had it prepared properly before."

Lucas carefully shifted his computer out of his lap and brought his legs up, curling them under himself for a more comfortable posture. "So…tell me more about archaeology. Or what it is that you do?"

"Archaeology itself is a field that encompasses many other fields. I dabble in many, but my favorite is anthropology. The study of human culture and behavior," Leighton took a sip of his own tea. "We're just trying to learn as much as we can about the past, where we came from, and if possible, where we might be going from here. As to what I do, I obviously teach."

"Of course."

"But occasionally I am called away to excavation sites, digs, and things of that nature. I also receive artifacts from dig sites to look over and study, such as that pot you helped me reassemble." Another pause as he again sipped at his tea. "By the way, we were able to translate the glyph on the side of the jar. Care to take a guess as to what it said?"

Lucas blinked, his mind a blank. At a loss for any other answer, he said, "Don't play ball in the house?"

To his amazement, Leighton laughed out loud. It was the first time he had heard it. The Professor was prone to chuckles, and was almost always smiling. But he seemed to rarely laugh outright. It was a very pleasant sound, Lucas decided.

"A very good guess, but unfortunately, that is incorrect," Leighton said, still smiling at the joke. "It refers to the area where it was found in South America. A place glyph."

"Huh…" Lucas fell silent.

"…something on your mind, Lucas?"

"Nothing serious. Sorry. Just thinking about something," he said before burying his nose in his mug of tea. But even as he said it, he had reached a decision. It was something he had been weighing since walking into that class for the first time and meeting Professor Leighton. It almost seemed a wonder that it had taken him this long to make up his mind about it.

Now the Professor looked concerned. "If there's anything I can do…?"

Lucas shook his head. "Nope. But thanks, though."

He left that night, a couple of hours later, with his paper a mere page away from being done. He also carried with him a new appreciation for tea (although he did spare a moment to jokingly wonder if that was the source of the mind-altering drugs he had previously blamed for his change of heart regarding the class and its subject matter), and the realization that he had finally figured something out.

Another dream came that night, the most vivid he'd had in days. Every time he had one of these dreams, they were so clear compared to other dreams, and he remembered them in the morning. He always dreamed of a child in a blue sweater and blue cap; this child looked a great deal like Lucas himself had at that age, from the eye color to the honey-brown of his hair, and even his affinity for the color blue.

But there was one part that never seemed to clear up: there was always a man in the dream with him. Err, with the child. Somehow, he had difficulty discerning between the two. But the man was a mystery. He wore dark brown, and an orange shirt, and a tall brown hat. But his face remained obscured somehow. He could not see who the man was.

It was almost frightening in some ways, but in others it felt like he was remembering something from his childhood, a fond memory that had slipped his mind over time. And the child looked alarmingly like him. He could not figure it out, nor he could he make sense of the man with no discernable face. That alone should have scared him. Instead, he looked up to this mysterious man as someone to be respected, as someone who could and would protect him.

In this dream, they were on a train. And he seemed to be having a grand old time bouncing on the seat cushions and cheering about how amazing it all was. Just like a child…

The next morning, Lucas got up. He showered, dressed, and gathered his things, and left his room. He went down to the registrar's office, and asked the woman sitting behind the desk what paperwork he needed to fill out to declare a major. She flipped through a few folders in a filing cabinet before withdrawing the necessary paperwork and passing it to him.

He filled it out quickly. And where it finally asked for his declared major, Lucas hesitated for only a split second before writing _History_ into the space provided.


	4. Midterms

**AN:** I don't own Professor Layton. Just playing around.

**Midterms**

"Lucas, can I see you for a moment?"

He glanced up in the midst of trying to shove his book into an already overly full backpack that seemed to be no longer accepting submissions. "S-sure," he said, more startled than he felt he should be at the request. It was not unusual for him to approach the Professor after class. But this was the first time the Professor had requested that he stay.

When he approached the table, Professor Leighton regarded him with a raised eyebrow and a look that was hard to place. "I received this from the registrar's office this morning, my boy." He held up a sheet of paper covered in typed words. "Regarding a new addition to our list of history majors?"

Ah, so that was it. Lucas should have figured that it would have gotten around to the Professor's ears soon enough. Or eyes, as the case may be. He tried to look nonchalant. "Oh really?"

"Yes. And I seem to find your name as the new one on the list," Leighton said; he set the paper back down and leaned his elbows against the table, weaving his fingers together and resting his chin against them. "I admit, it surprised me a great deal."

"It did?"

"You were the one who declared on the very first day that you did not enjoy history. Now you have declared it as your major. I'm sure you can see where I was surprised to see this list.

For the first time since he had filled out that form, Lucas felt a twinge of uncertainty. He had been so sure when he had gone to do it, but now with the Professor's almost disapproving eyes on him, he was having second thoughts. "Do you think I should do something else?" he asked solemnly, rather hoping that the man would read between the lines and get the question hidden there.

_Do you not want me to be in your classes anymore?_

Apparently, Hewitt Leighton was not a stupid man, and could indeed read between those narrow lines. And his eyes widened as he quickly shook his head. "It's not that, my boy. Not at all. It's wonderful to have you. I was just wondering what on earth inspired this change of heart."

Lucas looked down. He couldn't very well come right out and say _you,_ but he could say, "Well, I think something opened my eyes, and now I can't think about anything else." That was the complete truth, an annoying fact when he was trying to do homework for other classes.

Leighton smiled, obviously pleased with the answer. "Well, welcome aboard, my boy." He stood. "And it seems that I'm slated to be your advisor as of next semester."

This was news to Lucas, and he couldn't quite suppress the grin. "Awesome." He hesitated, then said, "Hey, Professor? …got any research you need help with? Or broken jar jigsaw puzzles?"

The Professor chuckled. "I should refuse because I'm sure you have other classes to worry about, but at the same time, I must admit that I enjoy the company. All right, Lucas, you win. The usual time, if that's all right? And here is your obligatory reminder to bring your homework and finish that first."

"Crystal clear, sir," Lucas said with a mock salute.

_**-o-**_

It was getting to be something that was happening almost weekly now. After classes and dinner, Lucas would gather his things and make his way to the office on the top floor. If he was doing some sort of homework, he would usually take his place on the worn brown couch. But on quite a few occasions, he found himself seated in the chair on the other side of the desk, looking over this or that or the other thing with the Professor.

Sometimes it was just a book or some article of interest. But other times, it was an actual artifact, something from an actual civilization. Some of them were ones that the Professor had in his office, most of which were replicas of things he had actually worked on. But now and again there was a genuine item, sent by a fellow archaeologist for study.

Those were Lucas' favorite times spent in the office. The Professor always had tea, and was always quite willing to share both his beverage of choice and his company. The man had been all over the world, seen many interesting and exotic things, and seemed very pleased to share his experiences with his student. At one point, he had actually joked about making Lucas his apprentice; Lucas had said, also jokingly, that he would settle for work-study, as it paid better.

But unfortunately, tonight was a work night. Lucas had his nose buried in a math textbook ("For a long time, math was the only class I hated more than history. Just so you know," he had said, ignoring the Professor's dry chuckle and response of, "And yet whenever I hand you a number puzzle, you jump all over it."), and the Professor was correcting some papers.

But there was a conversation, and in this case, it was quite an amusing one.

Leighton glanced up from the paper in his hand with a stunned look. "Middle aged?"

Lucas didn't even bat an eye. "Yeah. That's what I said."

After a pause, the Professor quirked a brow. "My boy, how old do you think I am?"

"I dunno," Lucas shrugged. "You're kinda old-fashioned, so I figured maybe middle aged?"

Leighton started to laugh. "I certainly hope you never have to testify in a court case, my boy. You'd be a terrible witness." He sat back in his chair and shook his head. "I'm twenty-eight years old, Lucas."

That got Lucas' attention. "What?"

"It's true."

"…you're really that young?"

"Are you insinuating that I look old?"

"N-no! Not at all!"

"Good. Back to work with you, whippersnapper."

Lucas grinned, recognizing the jibe as meaning that there were no hard feelings over the tragic misunderstanding, and returned his attention to his book with an overly loud mutter of "Geezer."

"I'll remember that when I'm grading your final exam."

"…don't remind me," Lucas sighed. Finals were approaching far too fast for his taste. His first semester of college was almost over and done with. It was amazing. In the past few months, he had moved into his dorm, started classes, found a kindred spirit and mentor in the congenial History Professor, and declared a major in a subject that he had actually hated when starting school here.

Incredible how life could change so fast…

He heard the Professor let out a sound of alarm, and glanced up to see the infamous tea mug tip over the edge of the desk and start on a crash course with the floor. It was almost humorous, how it almost seemed to be moving in slow motion.

Without even thinking about it, Lucas jumped up and dove across the room, sliding to his knees on the carpet (an imitation of a Persian rug, he remembered the Professor saying as he pointed out the flaw in the pattern, as no true Persian rug was ever made completely perfect because it was believed to be an affront to the god Allah, who alone was worthy of perfection).

And the mug landed in his hands a few inches above the floor. A couple lukewarm drops of tea leaked out onto his hands, but otherwise, there was no mess, and nothing was broken.

Leighton was standing behind the desk; he smiled in relief. "Excellent save, my boy."

It was strange, how the use of a simple phrase like 'my boy' could make Lucas feel so weird and happy. But as he stood up, still holding the mug, he felt an overwhelming urge to say something. So he did. He held the mug out with one hand, flashed a thumb-up with the other, grinned, and crowed, "Leighton's apprentice saves the day!"

…why did such a stupid sentence feel so right on his lips?

_**-o-**_

Finals were over.

And the email was sitting on his computer, waiting to be read.

Lucas stared at it for a long moment. It seemed so innocent, marked as coming from Professor Hewitt Leighton, with a subject line of _Final Exam Grade._ All he had to do was open it and find out, once and for all, if he was making the right decision.

He had studied. Oh goodness, had he studied. He had wanted so desperately to be prepared for this test and do well to impress his teacher and again, to prove to himself that he had chosen the right major. And if he did well…well, he could stay near the Professor. Somehow, the idea of not being able to see the man every day and spend those comfortable nights sprawled on the sofa in his office was painful.

And when he had taken the final exam, the cumulative test over the entire semester, it was like someone else was moving his hand. He had known everything, and the answers had seemed to write themselves. It was like he had known all of this all along.

Clark had already opened his email, and was pumping his fist in the air and cheering over his ninety-one percent, narrowly above the A mark, earning himself an A in the class for the semester. He seemed very pleased with that, and rightfully so.

"Come on, Luke, just give it a look already," Clark gave him a look from across the table.

Lucas swallowed hard, and pressed the Enter button on his laptop to open the email.

_Lucas,_

_Your grade on the final exam was a 100%, giving you a final grade of 96.5% for the course. Well done, my boy! I look forward to seeing you next semester._

_Professor Leighton_

Lucas gaped at the email, his eyes twice their normal size.

Clark kicked him under the table. "Luke? What'dya get?"

"…I aced it," Lucas said after a moment spent blinking to make sure he was not seeing things.

"What the crap??"

"A hundred percent. I got a ninety-six in the course."

"…damn. Well, congrats!"

"Thanks…" he said genuinely. But the last sentence in the email had given him an odd fluttering feeling in his stomach. Next semester, he would be back in the Professor's class. And maybe the Professor would let him come back up to the office more…

For the first time in his entire schooling career, he could hardly wait for the holiday vacation to be over.

_**-o-**_

The dream was intense tonight.

The boy in his dreams, the one who looked so much like him, was running down a flight of stairs. The building around him was shaking violently, and pieces of the walls and ceiling were crashing down like large boulders around him and the others he was with.

And then one piece hit the stairs in front of him, and for one horrific moment, he was certain that he was going to fall. A fall from this height would be fatal. But he jumped as hard as he could, and felt an immeasurable relief at the feeling of stairs beneath his shoes.

He turned back to the two people he had been running with. There was a girl (very pretty, and goodness, she looked familiar), and that man again. His face was still obscured, somehow. And he was yelling something, words that did not reach the boy's ears.

It was bizarre. It was almost like Lucas was the boy in question. He was in tune with what the boy thought, felt, heard, saw, and did, as if they were one and the same. And right now, that odd sense told him that the boy had just been instructed to run and escape from the stairs. And he obeyed.

As they were running down the stairs, a name sprang, unbidden, into Lucas' mind. At first, he wondered if it was the boy's name, but he immediately discounted that idea, knowing it to be false. That was not the child's name.

_Layton._

It was the man's name. The boy was thinking it. He even knew, somehow, how it was spelled.

_Layton._

How strange…

Lucas woke up as the boy in his dream reached the bottom of the staircase. His heart was hammering a rapid tattoo in his chest, and his mind was swimming with that name: _Layton._

And he couldn't help but realize that it was the same as his professor's name.

_Layton._

_Leighton._

…what in the world was going on?


	5. Scheduling

**AN:** I don't own Professor Layton. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!

**Scheduling**

"Tell me again why we have to write so many papers?"

"It builds character. Rather like being yelled at."

"…I'll write the paper."

There was a triumphant chuckle from the Professor, seated comfortably at his desk. Lucas managed to scrape up something that he hoped looked like a scowl as he flipped open a book and began to read up on his chosen subject. For the duration of this paper, they were to choose an archaeological discovery and research and write an extensive paper on it. It was actually to be their final paper for the semester, but due to the magnitude, they already had the assignment.

"I will make you a deal, my boy," Leighton said after a moment of silence. "If you keep working, I do have something I'd like to discuss with you. Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes, oh master of the world," Lucas said with a dry grin.

"Very well, then." The jibe rolled off the Professor's back like water off a duck's feathers.

Still rather pleased with himself, Lucas looked back down at his book. It seemed that everyone and their imaginary friend Jake had chosen either Howard Carter's discovery of the tomb of the Egyptian Pharaoh Tutankhamen in 1922, or Heinrich Schliemann's initial excavation of the ruins of Troy in the 1870s. But Lucas was determined to do something different.

It was for this reason that the book he was reading was entitled _Great Archaeological Finds of the Twentieth Century._ A rather dry title, but the book itself was interesting, and provided no end of options for a topic for an expansive paper. The Professor had actually recommended the book in class for those who had not yet decided on a topic. The copy in Lucas' hands was the Professor's own personal copy, loaned to him for the purpose of finding his paper subject.

Right now, he was reading about the excavation of several tombs found near Stonehenge in the earlier parts of the twentieth century. It seemed that it had involved quite a good number of the scientists, historians, and archaeologists of the era, and had become very infamous when one of the scientists on the site had been found to be smuggling artifacts out of the site with the intention to sell them off to private collectors.

Lucas couldn't understand why someone would steal something like that. But, he supposed, throughout time there have always been those for whom money spoke loudly and clearly.

He read down a section that detailed the names of various personnel involved in the excavation and their reactions to the news of the crime. When he first saw it, his eyes actually passed over it. It wasn't until a few seconds later that his brain caught up, and he found himself scanning backwards to find it again. And there, there it was!

_Professor Hershel Layton, a renowned archaeologist and detective of the time, was on the site to assist in the identification and cataloguing of the various items found on the scene…_

Lucas just kept staring at that name: _Professor Hershel Layton._

_Layton._

_Layton._

He knew that name.

…okay, this was just weird. He tried to tell himself that it was just a coincidence, that he was making a mountain out of a molehill, that it was just an odd coincidence because Layton wasn't exactly an uncommon last name, so there were probably quite a few Laytons lurking around.

Even though his mind kept trying to point out that he already knew a Leighton.

Determined to forget about it, Lucas turned a page with the intention of skipping over the rest of this case and moving onto the next one. But that plan fell dead on the tracks when he saw the picture on the next page. It was an old photograph, black and white, but still quite clear. It showed two men studying some sort of document on a table. But Lucas' entire attention was focused on only one of the men.

A tall man, square-faced, and wearing a suit and top hat.

This was the faceless man in his dreams. He was sure of it, absolutely sure of it. There was no way it could be anyone else. The resemblance was just too much for it to be chance. But there was something else that he was just now realizing, something that made ice claw at the pit of his stomach.

Lucas slowly turned his head to look at the Professor, sitting at the desk. He looked back down at the photo in the book. His gaze moved back and forth between the man in the room and the picture in the book a couple more times before he allowed himself to be convinced.

The man in the black and white photo looked _exactly_ like the Professor. To the extent that Lucas could have believed that they were twins, were they not separated by decades.

His eyes now dropped to the caption beneath the photo. Somehow, he already knew what he was going to see. And sure enough, awfully enough, he was proven to be absolutely right.

_Professor Hershel Layton (left) arrives on the scene and confers with…_

Lucas didn't even see the other man's name. His suspicions had been confirmed.

So the man in his dreams, the man whose face he had yet to actually see, was Professor Hershel Layton, famed archaeologist of the early twentieth century. Even if he hadn't heard the name in his dream, he just couldn't imagine anyone else looking that much like the man. It just had to be him.

…and Professor Hershel Layton, famed archaeologist of the early twentieth century, bore an almost frightening resemblance to Lucas' own Professor, Hewitt Leighton.

It took Lucas a few moments to remember that breathing was, in fact, a necessity of life, and thus he should probably try to take up the habit again. He had discovered something that, under normal circumstances, would have probably been written off as a happy coincidence. But given his dreams, he could not dismiss it as such. There were just too many points for him to forget the whole thing.

…he could not work on this project any further tonight. His head was just too messed up.

His abrupt leap to his feet must have startled the Professor. He heard the man made a surprised noise, but ignored it as he started shoving his things back into his bag as quickly as he could. "Lucas, my boy? Are you all right?" There was a creak that indicated that the Professor was on his feet.

_Stop calling me that,_ Lucas thought, unsure as to why the words sent a chill down his spine. _Just stop it…_ Suddenly he was not sure if he was actually referring to his common nickname of 'my boy,' or to the use of his proper name.

Or was it his name?

Little boy in the blue cap…

Man in the top hat…

Photo in the book…

Leighton…

Lucas…

Layton…

_…LUKE there was the name that was his name or was it really…_

A hand touched his shoulder, and het let out a sound that could only be called a scream as he jumped back. His foot landed on a stack of magazines, and slid out from under him, sending him crashing to the office floor. He narrowly missed hitting the small coffee table on the way down, instead landing hard on the imitation Persian rug with the very solid tile floor beneath it.

His head smacked the floor, and stars danced merrily in front of his eyes.

"Lucas!" he vaguely heard the Professor's voice saying his name sharply, the first time he had ever heard the Professor use any tone other than his usual calm, collected voice. Usually that tone was tempered with his trademark good humor. Now it was loud, alarmed, and frantic. "Lucas!"

Hands were at his shoulders, his neck, his face, lifting his head carefully to let gentle fingers run over the back of his head. "No blood…" he heard the man mutter. "I don't think it's serious…"

Through the haze dancing in front of his eyes, Lucas could see the Professor leaning over him; the man was close enough that Lucas could feel his breath on his forehead, and he could smell a strange mix of tea and mint and the faint scent of cologne…

He liked that smell.

And he liked the fact that the Professor was this close and touching him…

…god, what was wrong with him? How hard had he hit his head?

With a bit of effort, Lucas sat up, feeling the Professor's hands again on his shoulders to help him sit up and support him while he tried to shake it off. And he suddenly realized how incredibly foolish he must have looked. He pressed one hand to his forehead in a vain attempt to stave off the headache that was already gnawing at the inside of his skull with its little jackhammers, and looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry…" he murmured. "That was a really dumbass thing to do."

He brushed off the Professor's questions as to whether or not he was okay, did he need anything, should they get a doctor, and with some effort Lucas got to his feet. His head was pounding, and he really just wanted to take a couple of aspirin and sleep for a few hours. But first he had to make it out of the office in one piece, and with Leighton worriedly hanging over him, that could be a challenge.

Lucas managed to put a good front on, though, and convinced the Professor that he was all right. He gathered his things and very quickly said his goodbyes and goodnights, and promised to bring the borrowed book back after he was done. He only wobbled a little bit as he made his way out of the office, down the stairs, and back to his own dorm room.

The room was, thankfully, empty. He figured that Clark was probably out chasing down that pretty sophomore girl, Daisy. They certainly seemed to be spending a lot of time together as of late. The idea would have made Lucas smile if there weren't war-drums going inside his ears.

As he dropped his bag by his desk, the book fell out and onto the floor. The book he had borrowed from the Professor, the one that held that damnable black and white photograph…

Tomorrow, Lucas decided as he hauled himself up into his lofted bed. Tomorrow he would make a photocopy of that page to keep, just in case. Just in case of what, he wasn't entirely sure, but somehow, he thought it might be important to have. And he had to assume that the Professor had read the book, since he owned it. How had he not noticed?

Too many questions, not enough answers, more than enough pain in his head.

…as he started drifting off to sleep, Lucas realized that he had never found out what it was that the Professor had wanted to ask him about, that had been offered as a deal in exchange for his work being done in the office. Oh well, he thought as he brushed the thought aside in favor of some quality snuggle time with his pillow. If it was that important, he would probably find out about it later…

He dreamt again that night, of a mansion and a cat.

And that man again…

_**-o-**_

"You did WHAT?" Clark asked the next morning as the two were preparing to leave for class.

Lucas swallowed the two aspirin (there was still a dull ache in his head, but overall he felt fine) and capped the bottle. "You heard me. Bam, right on my back."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…embarrassed, really," Lucas gave himself one last look in the mirror. Satisfied with his appearance, despite the fact that he still looked tired, he nodded and shouldered his bag.

Clark followed and waited while Lucas locked their door. As they started walking down towards the stairs at the other end of the hallway, Clark spoke up again. "Hey, Lucas? I'm kinda starting to worry."

That statement genuinely surprised him, especially given that Clark was not one to voice such pesky thinks like feelings on a regular basis. "What do you mean? Why are you worried?"

"I dunno, it's hard to explain, but ever since that first day in Western Civ, you've been acting really weird," Clark said as they left the building and walked out into the crisp spring morning. The snows of winter were finally starting to melt. "It's almost like you're obsessed with the Prof."

"I am not! I just study better in the office! Not so many damn distractions," Lucas protested indignantly. But even as he squawked, he couldn't help but realize that he had been thinking about the Professor a lot lately, and even moreso since he had plucked that name from his dream. And now that he had found that picture and had seen Layton…

He doubted that Professor Leighton would be getting out of his head anytime soon.

"Okay, okay," Clark held up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "I'm just saying…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's just get breakfast, okay?" They were nearing the building that housed the servery now.

Determined to change the subject very quickly, Lucas smirked. "Why don't you ask Daisy to join us?" The sputter he got in response was priceless.

…so he was actually a bit surprised when Daisy Rainholt did, in fact, walk into the servery about five minutes after they'd take a seat, see them, and come over to ask if she could have a seat. And Lucas had to admit, not for the first time, that she was a very pretty girl. And Clark certainly seemed happy.

Except now that he was actually getting to have a conversation with his roommate's girlfriend, he was finding her to be quite sweet, quiet, and very polite. Which left him wondering how in the world someone this quiet could possibly handle someone like Clark.

Needless to say, Lucas was a tiny bit concerned.

Then Clark made a joke, and Daisy pulled a folder from her bag and thwapped him soundly on the head with it. And Lucas was not concerned anymore. Although he was now quite certain that in thinking she was sweet, quiet, and shy, he had been conned.

_**-o-**_

When he walked into the Professor's class the following day, he was unsurprised to find himself on the receiving end of a Look. It was a Teacher Look. Similar in many ways to a Mother Look, the Teacher Look had the capacity to make the student on the receiving end feel very, very small.

Feeling that Look on him, Lucas ducked his head and slid into his seat and immediately began digging through his bag for the necessary supplies for class, not daring to meet the man's eyes.

At the end of class, as he had expected, he was summoned to the front of the room while everyone else filed out. Leighton regarded him with a concerned expression. "Are you all right, my boy?"

_My boy._

He ignored the churn of his stomach at those two blasted little words and nodded. "I'm fine. Slept it off, was good by morning," he said cheerfully, waving a hand and deciding that he was not going to tell the Professor about the headache that had clung to him for the better part of the following day. "Oh, and here's your book, Professor," he pulled the borrowed tome out and handed it to the man. He had photocopied the page in question the previous day, and had it safely tucked away.

The Professor accepted the book with a smile. "Thank you, my boy."

"Well, I'm gonna head off to lunch, so—"

"Lucas, there was something I wanted to discuss with you," Leighton interrupted in a rare moment of rudeness. His smile had faded into something more serious. "Can you stop by the office tonight at the usual time? This is very important."

Now Lucas felt nervous. "Am I in trouble?"

To his relief, Leighton's expression lightened. "Oh, good heavens, no. But there is something of great importance that I must discuss with you, and it must happen soon. Can I expect you tonight, then?"

Lucas smiled. "Absolutely. And I promise this time I won't try to kill myself." He put one hand over his heart in an exaggerated gesture. "Cross my heart and hope to…well, hope to not die, but you know what I mean." He was rewarded when Leighton chuckled and wished him a pleasant day.

_**-o-**_

The trip up the stairs was familiar by now. Lucas rounded the corner, made his way down the extremely narrow little tributary corridor, and through the open door to the Professor's office. It had been ages since he knocked; when the door was open, that meant that he was welcome to walk in, especially if he was expected there.

"I'm here," he announced, though it was quite unnecessary to do so.

"Good to see you," Leighton replied, glancing up from some papers on his desk.

One of those papers caught Lucas' eye. It almost looked like a travel brochure? Probably overstepping the boundaries of politeness, he reached over and picked the colorful pamphlet up. "Professor, what is all this? Are you going somewhere?" The thought made a cold jet of fear lance through his stomach.

"Patience, my boy," the Professor said, reaching up to take the brochure back. "Please, sit. This has to do with what I wished to discuss with you." As Lucas obediently dropped into the seat on the opposite side of the desk, Leighton continued. "I was speaking with a college of mine, a Professor Nazolene. She's working a site down in South America."

Mention of actual archaeological work made Lucas' ears perk up. "What kind of site?"

Leighton seemed oddly pleased at his enthusiastic response. "It seems that they have stumbled across the remains of what appears to be a small Mayan village, in the area of Chichen Itza on the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico. Now, the village itself is not particularly large, but it seems that there is a wealth of artifacts pertaining to daily life in the Mayan time, and thus the site is potentially going to become very valuable from a historical viewpoint."

Lucas actually felt rather happy to hear the news. "That sounds awesome!"

"It is," the Professor chuckled. "Which leads me to the reason for all of this," he gestured towards the papers scattered across his desk. "As I'm sure you are well aware, the semester will soon be drawing to a close, and then school will dismiss for the summer."

"Oh, believe me I know!" Lucas said dramatically, earning a laugh.

"As there will be no classes here for the duration, I have been invited down to Mexico for the summer to assist in the excavation of the site," Leighton said. "Hence, the travel information."

"You're going?"

"I can't think of anything that I would miss this for. Not off the top of my head, anyway," the Professor said, absently shuffling the papers into a neat stack on the corner of his desk. "These are the things that we live for as archaeologists and historians."

"I can imagine," Lucas said slowly. For some reason, the idea of the Professor going that far away…he did not like it. But there was no rationale for him thinking like that. After all, he was going to have to go home for the summer and not see the Professor for that long anyway. What difference did it make?

There was a pause before Leighton said, "You're probably wondering what it was that I wanted to discuss with you that was so important. And yes, it is related to what I've just told you."

To be honest, Lucas had momentarily forgotten about the reason he had come here. "Y-yes?"

Leighton leaned his elbows on the desk, his fingers entwined together, and regarded Lucas with a measuring look. "I was told that I could bring an assistant with me to the site."

It took Lucas a moment to get it, and he felt his face redden. "Wh-what?" He gaped openly, not quite believing that he was hearing any of this correctly. "An assistant? And…are you asking…me?"

"I am," the Professor said. "The fact is that I discussed you with Nazolene. And based on what I told her, she agrees with me. You have great promise, my boy, and despite your initial statements that you despise history, you have come to have a great deal of passion for the subject. I think you would do well on the site. So please consider this a formal invitation. Will you accompany me?"

After several seconds, Lucas remembered that his body required oxygen to function. "I—y-yes! Oh my god, yes! Absolutely!" he pressed one hand to his forehead, feeling a ridiculously huge smile break out on his face. "I'd love to go!" He felt like a child, giddy as could be.

Leighton smiled. "Very well. I'll let Nazolene know, and we'll make the preparations for the trip. We'll leave the first week of June. In the meantime, make sure you focus on your final exams."

Lucas' exit from the office was stumbling, clumsy, and full of babbling thanks. It wasn't until he reached the bottom of the stairs that he realized what he had just been offered. If he was serious about history, then this was truly the opportunity of a lifetime.

…and he would get to spend the entire summer with the Professor.

It really didn't get much better than that.

_**-o-**_

Lucas practically floated through the rest of the semester and, coincidentally, the rest of the school year. He couldn't stop thinking about what was going to come as soon as the year ended. Ever since the Professor told him about it, he couldn't get it out of his head. An actual archaeological dig in another country. An excavation of a real site. And spending his summer hanging out with his favorite teacher.

…it was weird, but he really didn't think so much of Leighton as a teacher anymore. More like a mentor. Almost a friend, but not quite. There was still a wall there, as there should be a wall between student and teacher. But Lucas couldn't help but feeling like he was starting to poke holes in that wall. It would be very bizarre someday when he had graduated and became the Professor's colleague, instead of his student. He was fairly sure he would never be able to alter his thinking like that.

Still, he walked on the clouds for the next two months, even going so far as to completely forget about his own birthday, much to Clark's annoyance ("For god's sake, you're nineteen now. Go find a girl and get laid to celebrate. And—HEY, PUT THE CHAIR DOWN! I was just kidding…") Not even having to go through a few god-awful immunizations (one of which actually landed him sick in bed for a day) could bring his mood down.

It was just after one of those immunizations that he found himself once again on the couch in the Professor's office, working on a schedule for the first semester of the following school year. As Leighton was now Lucas' advisor, it was one of those little pesky matters that had to be taken care of.

In spite of the warmer weather they'd been having, which was letting most people get away with jeans or shorts and T-shirts, Lucas was practically swimming in an enormous blue sweatshirt and light brown pajama pants. He looked ridiculous, unless one looked at his face and realized that he was not well.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Leighton asked for the third time since they had started this meeting. It was taking a bit longer, since Lucas was now a semester behind on the major, and they were trying to figure out the best way to work everything in and have him finish up in the next three years. But it was more Leighton suggesting things and Lucas curling up on the couch and agreeing to everything the man said because thinking was just not worth the effort.

"F-fine…" Lucas mumbled. Why was it so blasted cold in here?

"…Lucas."

Uh-oh, that was the Teacher Voice. And it meant that Super Happy Fun Pretend Nothing Is Wrong Time was over. Leighton meant business now, and it was with some nervousness (and far more effort than it should have really taken) that Lucas raised his head and looked directly at his teacher. "Y-yes?"

"Get over here. Let's finish this so you can go back to bed. I have been in your position before, and I know exactly how awful it feels," he gestured towards the chair on the other side of the desk, giving the student a look that permitted no arguments. "So upon the conclusion of this meeting, you _will_ return to your room and you _will _go to bed and you _will_ sleep for a minimum of six hours. Are we clear on this matter, my boy?"

"…crystal clear, sir," Lucas mumbled, hauling himself off the sofa and quickly plopping into the indicated chair before his knees could decide that keeping him upright was not on their list of things to do that day. He kept his hood up, and his hands pulled up into his sleeves; mentally, he found himself quoting a comic he had read somewhere. _Nothing can penetrate the Hood of Solitude…_

"All right, my boy. So these are the classes you'll need to take…"

_I am invincible…_

_**-o-**_

Fortunately, the illness passed, and the Professor's parting suggestion of sleeping until a week past Thursday proved to be remarkably helpful. And before he knew it, the end of the semester had arrived, bringing with it those glorious little things known as Final Exams.

In spite of his exhilaration at the prospect of what lay just beyond the Week from Hell, Lucas finally had to force himself to come back down to earth and focus on his studies. There had been no question about things: school was to be his priority, the Professor had said. So Lucas needed to make sure things stayed where they were academically, not just to keep himself on the roster for this trip or for other reasons that he had not yet disclosed to the Professor.

He really did not want to let the man down.

But finally, it was over. He had done well in all of his classes, through his Algebra grade left a teensy bit to be desired. But he managed a low A in that class, and nailed all of his other classes. In short, despite how exhausted he was right now, he had succeeded in having almost a model first year of college, which was a great relief in more ways than one.

And now he could finally turn his attention to what was up next!

Lucas packed carefully according to the Professor's instructions, and got the rest of his things loaded up to send home with his parents, who were being surprisingly supportive about the whole thing. He wasn't going home. Instead, they were simply going to leave from the campus and head straight to the airport from there.

When he finally heard those magic words, "Are you ready to go?" Lucas wanted to sing.


	6. Field Trip

**AN:** I am going to lose consciousness following this post. For the record, the safety lecture as mentioned in this fic? Based on actual events. Not even kidding—a real flight attendant did that. Anyway, here ya go. I don't own Professor Layton. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!

**Field Trip**

Lucas leaned his elbow against the car door and regarded the Professor with a grin. "It's sort of weird seeing you looking…not like a teacher, Professor," Lucas admitted. "You actually look human now."

The look Leighton gave him seemed to be mostly amused, rather similar to the look that he had offered up when Lucas had climbed into the car and promptly declared 'Onwards, Leightonmobile!' Ah, messing with people was fun. "Given the nature of this trip, I thought perhaps this would be a bit more appropriate attire," he said simply, returning his full attention to the road in front of them.

It was odd, though, to see Leighton looking anything other than one hundred percent polished and dressed neatly. He was actually wearing jeans—the Professor owned a pair of jeans!—and an orange polo shirt. And his hat was nowhere to be seen. Comfortable for travel, for sure. But it made the man look very different from how he did in the classroom. He looked a great deal younger.

He actually looked like the twenty-eight year old man he was, instead of someone more mature.

Fortunately, the trip to the airport was not a terribly long one, so the need for small talk was relatively minimal. And once inside the place, they were caught up in checking their bags, getting their tickets checked, and finding first their gate and then their seats without getting lost or having any other problems. They were seated together on the plane, on the right side.

"Professor?" Lucas asked as they found their seats.

"Yes, my boy?"

He was a bit embarrassed to ask, but he did so anyway. "C-can I have the window seat?" He looked down, feeling his face heat up at the ridiculous request. "I've never been on a plane before."

Leighton's trademark chuckle was music to his ears. "Absolutely, my boy." And he moved aside to let Lucas slip past and sit next to the window, seemingly pleased at how happy this made him. The Professor sat down in the aisle seat. "You've never been on a plane?"

"Never been on a plane, never been out of the country, nothing," Lucas said with a shrug. He was busily shoving his bag under the seat in front of him. "My parents…well, we weren't poor or anything, but we never really had the money to go travel or go on vacation or anything like that."

The Professor looked surprised. "Is everything all right?"

"Eh, don't worry," Lucas waved a hand. "I never brought it up when you would poke me about my grades, but the fact is that I'm not going to let my grades slide. I made it here mostly on scholarships, and keeping those depends on my grades staying up. So you really don't have to worry about that."

"I apologize," Leighton said. He looked…was guilty the right word? "It didn't even occur to me to ask."

"Don't apologize," Lucas said. "I'm actually the first one in my family to go to college. I go, I get my degree, and I can have things a little better than my parents did." He shrugged. "I think that's one of the reasons they were really happy to hear about this trip. It means I've actually got a shot." Now he looked straight at his teacher. "So…I don't know if I really said it, but thank you. Thank you for all this."

It was the first time Lucas had ever seen Professor Leighton at a loss for words. But finally, the man sighed, smiled, and simply said, "You're welcome, my boy. You're most welcome."

That was as far as they got before the flight attendant began running down the safety lecture. Somehow, they had managed to get on the one plane with a comedian at the microphone, and were told, "We don't plan on crashing into the ocean, folks, but if we do, take your seat. You paid for it." And he also told them, "If you don't know how to buckle a seatbelt, folks, you probably shouldn't be on this plane by yourself anyway."

Considering that it was Lucas' first safety lecture, he was a bit baffled. "I thought this was boring?"

"It usually is."

Not long after, they were on their way down the runway, preparing to take off.

Take-off was nothing like anything Lucas had ever experienced before. Embarrassing as it was, he found himself gripping the armrest of his chair, and managed to ignore yet another amused look from the Professor. But he kept his eyes out the window the entire time, watching with a mixture of awe and trepidation as the plane pulled away from the ground and into the sky.

The rest of the flight was relatively uneventful. The attendants brought drinks, and later food around, and there was an in-flight movie (some ridiculous romantic comedy). Lucas buried his nose in some books he had brought along, including two books of puzzles that his parents had given him. Ever since he had started spending time with the Professor, he had found himself becoming more and more adept at the fine art of critical thinking.

It was quite some time later, as the daylight beyond the plane was all but gone and after the second movie was rolling through the credits, that Lucas glanced up. He had been working on a particularly tricky puzzle, and wanted to ask the Professor a question. But to his surprise, Leighton's head had lulled back against the seat at an odd angle. His eyes were closed, and the book he had been reading lay open against his chest.

…he was asleep.

Lucas belatedly realized that he was staring, but he couldn't help it. He was accustomed to seeing the Professor awake, alert, and ready to tackle just about anything that was thrown his way. Lucas himself was the one who had a tendency to doze off in odd places (like on the couch in the office). He had never before seen the man look so…

Vulnerable.

Relaxed.

Innocent.

Lucas didn't even know what else, but he couldn't look away.

After a few moments of just studying the Professor's sleeping face, he waved down a passing attendant and asked for a blanket, which was promptly brought to him. He thanked the uniformed man, and as the attendant left, Lucas carefully took the book from beneath the Professor's hands and marked the page before closing it and setting it aside. Then he unfolded the blanket and lay it over the sleeping man, trying to cover him as best he could.

That done, Lucas went back to his own book. Although his eyes kept straying to the side and to the Professor's slumbering face, and Lucas couldn't quite say why that was so.

The Professor stirred as the dinner cart was making its rounds, and looked a bit confused at where he was and what he was doing and why he was tucked under a blanket. Lucas bit back a laugh and wished the Professor a good morning, making no comment about the blanket.

After they had eaten (and contrary to what he had been told, Lucas found that airplane food really was not ithat/i bad), Lucas tried to go back to his book, only to find that now his eyes were refusing to stay open. Try as he might, he couldn't focus on the words on the page. And finally, he felt his hold on the volume loosen and his head roll to one side and run into something that he assumed was the wall…

"Lucas?"

The voice that woke him up was pleasant, cheerful, and very close to his ear.

Lucas stirred a little bit and blinked a few times before he became aware of his surroundings. Now he was the one who was tucked under the blanket (only one possible culprit there), and his book was sitting on the Professor's tray-table, and his head was…

…oh good god, he had fallen asleep with his head on the Professor shoulder.

That woke him faster than anything else ever could have, and Lucas jerked upright. All right, he was still a bit woozy, but he was definitely more conscious now than he had been a moment or two ago. "I'm so sorry, Professor!" he slurred, rubbing at his eyes. How long had he been asleep, anyway?

The fact that Leighton was chuckling didn't help him feel any less embarrassed about the whole thing. "It's all right, my boy. These are fairly close quarters, after all. I trust you slept well? I hope so. We'll be landing soon, so you'd best gather your things."

_**-o-**_

"You've never done this before either, have you, my boy?" Leighton asked, stepping back to look at the results of their handiwork. He did not seem displeased by his student's lack of prowess in this particular field, but more curious than anything else.

"Err…no," Lucas admitted sheepishly. "I haven't."

"Well, for your first time setting up a tent, this was not bad at all," the Professor said amiably. "And now we can get a good night's rest. I, for one, need it." He was reaching into the Jeep now, grabbing a large bag and pulling it free. He tossed it to Lucas. "We'll need these. Believe me, you will want it."

Lucas already knew better than to ask questions. The Professor knew what he was doing, and Lucas most decidedly did not. So he accepted the statement as fact and darted over to help with the retrieval of the bags. They would take what they needed into the tent tonight, so hopefully there would not be much to do come the morning.

Once that was done, they made their way inside. It was a fairly large tent, tall enough for both of them to stand up in (and the Professor was a good half a head taller than Lucas was). The large bag that the Professor had pulled out proved to hold two cots made of wood and canvas. Lucas was learning plenty right now about camping, particularly in the long-term.

"We're on our own for tonight, my boy," Leighton said, expertly popping the cot into place and setting it along one wall of the tent. "By tomorrow, we should be to the site with the others. The work will start within a few days. In the meantime, I hope you don't mind the rudimentary accommodations."

"I don't. It's actually…kind of nice," Lucas said. And he was surprised to realize that he meant it. There was something very pleasant about being outside in an area filled with trees, sitting inside a tent. And he had even managed to assemble his own cot, something he was far more proud of than he probably should have been, and which earned a pleased nod from his mentor.

But something was still bothering him. He was wondering if he'd had another one of those dreams while he slept on the plane. The way he felt was rather like he had, but he could not remember it, and that alarmed him a bit. He was accustomed to remembering those dreams. Perhaps he had actually forgotten one…or perhaps the strange feeling twisting in his stomach was something else? But what?

Ah, wait. The Professor was talking to him.

"I'm sure that we will both sleep like the dead tonight," Leighton said. He was busily arranging his bed and looking through his bag. "And we'll need it. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

Lucas nodded, then grabbed his own bag and slipped outside with the intention of very quickly changing clothes. He felt a little grimy, having been without a shower, but he decided that it was all probably part of the experience. And besides, changing into clean pajamas did make a difference. He waited a moment longer, than asked if it was all right for him to come back in. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he entered, and received another surprise.

Apparently, the Professor he had once teased about being old-fashioned slept in sweatpants and a T-shirt, much as Lucas himself did. Now he actually looked a bit younger than his professed twenty-eight years. And he was sitting on his cot, paging through a book. It was dark out now, and the only illumination in the tent was a small electric lantern on the floor.

"I'm ready to pass out if you are," Lucas said lightly as he checked the tent flap to make certain that it was securely shut, not entirely sure why his stomach was doing flip-flops at the moment. But he was tired, and the yawn that tried to split his face in two proved it.

"Then to bed," the Professor said. Goodnights were said, and the light was extinguished. And despite the nervous feeling twisting in his gut and the strange thoughts in his head, as well as the Professor's close proximity, Lucas fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

_**-o-**_

_He was on a ship, and a relatively large one at that. It seemed to be the darkest part of the night, and the air over the water was frigid. And there were people everywhere, screaming, running around in a panic, frantic to get away from something…_

_No, not just something._

_The water. There was water coming up onto the boat._

_It was sinking, and tilting dangerously as it did so. In fact, he was having trouble hanging onto the railing to keep from sliding down into the water, which was creeping up over the deck. There were plenty of other people doing exactly what he was doing._

_He had overheard a panicked conversation earlier between two of the crew members. While he hadn't been able to get what exactly had gone wrong, what he did understand was that the ship had started taking on water quickly, too quickly for them to do much to save the passengers. No lifeboats were able to be deployed; everyone on the ship was going to have to take their chances with fate in the water._

_And it was so cold…_

_And far too soon, the water was there. The ship was almost completely submerged, and there was no place left to climb to. It was coming up far too fast, he was going in, where were his parents he had lost them in the panicked crowds on the deck and now he was all alone oh no there it was—_

_Hitting the water was like having a million pins jabbed into him, all over his body. He went numb almost instantly as the water churned around and below him. Instinct kicked in, and he began to kick, to swim, to claw his way back to the surface. His life preserver helped, but trying to swim made him feel like for the moment, at least, he had a bit more control over his situation._

_That control was a pathetic illusion, but it was something._

_There are so many others around him, flailing and screaming in the water. He does not scream or cry, though. He is too far past that, and already his throat is raw and useless from the cold air. It's already a struggle to move his arms and legs, and he swears it hasn't been more than a moment or so…_

_**I want the Professor.**_

_It was the last thought, the final mantra echoing through his head as his arms and legs finally stopped working. He was bobbing along, supported by his life jacket, but that was all. He could no longer move, no longer struggle. He took a final gasping breath, and the already darkened world around him faded to black. He was so cold, so very cold…_

_**I want the Professor…**_

_**I want…Professor…**_

…_**I want…**_

…_**I…**_

…


	7. Conferences

**AN:** Yeah, this was supposed to go up last night, but sleepy Candy was sleepy and sort of lost consciousness. There'll be another chapter up tonight, as usual. Sorry for the wait XD I don't own Professor Layton. Thanks for reading!

**Conferences**

Lucas sat upright so fast that he nearly tipped his cot over sideways. He thought he might have cried out, but he wasn't sure until a light came on and he heard the Professor's voice. He couldn't even make out what the man was saying, though; the pounding of his heart in his chest and his pulse in his temples was too loud, and there was a roaring in his ears that drowned out everything else.

A hand touched his shoulder, and suddenly it was like someone set a firecracker off beneath him. He jumped to his feet, nearly falling as the blankets twisted around his legs but managing to stumble a few flailing feet and kick free before turning back to stare at the source of the touch. His own hands were instinctively clutching up at his heart; he was panting, gasping desperately for air, and he was shaking from head to toe. He was still so cold, even though the T-shirt he'd been wearing for the top half of his pajamas was drenched with perspiration, or was it just water…

And Professor Leighton was standing there, gaping at him; one hand was still raised as though to touch his arm. "…Lucas?" he said finally, lamely, like he just didn't know what else to say. "Are you all right?"

_Luke, my boy._

Something inside Lucas broke, something he hadn't even known was there. The dream—no, the nightmare, that horrible vision could only be called a nightmare—had left him exhausted, and the realization that the boy had just…

He barely realized that he was crying until he felt something damp on his face and caught a glimpse of the Professor's startled expression before his vision blurred. He dropped his face into his hands in a vain attempt to hide it, to brush those awful tears away before the Professor saw it because he would not approve, would never approve, this was not how a gentleman behaved and why in the world was he thinking about that right now…

Hands gripped his shoulders; he pushed against them, driven by some nameless instinct to do so, and suddenly found himself being pulled against a warm body. The arms were around him, holding him until he stopped struggling. "Lucas." A pause. "…tell me?"

After a moment, Lucas nodded.

It was several moments later that the two took seats inside the tent. Desperate for something to stave off a cold that came more from within than without as well as an excuse to not have to look at his teacher for a few moments, Lucas had looked through his bags. His mother had insisted he bring a sweater, and now he was grateful for it. It was an oversized fleece sweater, light blue in color; it smelled and felt like home, something he needed now.

He took a seat on his cot for a lack of anywhere else to sit, and wrapped his sweater-clad arms around himself. He was still chilled straight through. His eyes went straight to the ground and stayed there; he dared not make eye contact. Leighton sat on his own cot, facing his student. He had put on an electric lantern, which filled the tent with a soft yellow glow.

For a long moment, it was silent, save for the soft pattering as outside the tent, it began to rain. But the tent was well-made, and the rain stayed out. It was a fitting sound, though, perfect to punctuate what was happening with the thin canvas walls.

"Lucas," Leighton said finally, "what happened?"

At this point, there was no sense in hiding anything. He took a deep breath. "I've been having these really weird dreams. Well, some of them are nightmares, I guess. And I don't know what to make of them. I just wish they'd stop…" He paused and looked entreatingly at his teacher. "Professor, please. Please don't think I'm crazy…" He was practically begging, and hated it, but…

To his great relief, Leighton shook his head. "I won't think you're crazy, my boy. I promise"

_Luke, my boy._

He swallowed hard and for a moment grappled with where to begin before finally just diving in. "There's this boy in my dreams. He looks a lot like I did when I was a kid. I mean, maybe ten years old or so. Looks just like me. And then there's a man. He's tall, a lot taller than the kid, and wears a hat. And it's just within the last couple of dreams that I've actually been able to see his face. I couldn't before," Lucas paused and wiped at his eyes with his sweater sleeve. He was still shaking something dreadful, and his eyes wouldn't stop watering.

"What do they do?" the Professor asked.

"There's a lot of stuff. It depends on the dream, really…a-and I know their names. I don't know how, but I do. And I found the man," Lucas reached over and dug through his bag. "The boy's name is Luke. He's Luke! And for some reason, it's really weird, but it's like I can see into his head. Whatever he feels or sees or hears or thinks or whatever, I can pick up. I'm in tune with him somehow, and I don't know why. And the man is…"

He finally grabbed the photocopy he had made of the picture in that book and held it out to Leighton, pointing at the man on the left, "Him. That man." He swallowed again. "Professor…Layton."

Leighton's eyes widened slightly. "My word…"

Lucas shook his head and used his sleeve to wipe at his face again. "I don't get it. He looks just like you. Even has the hat and everything! But I don't know what the hell he's doing in my dreams! Either of them! Or why I can get inside Luke's head and all that…"

The Professor studied the sheet of paper for a moment longer before lowering it. He looked unnerved, despite his best efforts to remain calm. "What happened in your dream tonight, Lucas?"

"I—I mean, Luke was on a boat. A ship, I guess. He didn't want to be there. He was really unhappy about it. Wanted to go back to wherever he was before. But then I think something went wrong. Something happened and the ship sank," Lucas took a deep, shaky breath, and ran a nervous hand through his honey-brown hair. "The ship went down fast. There was barely any time to get lifeboats out or anything. And then he was in the water and it was cold…" He shivered, again feeling the tingle of the icy water on his skin. "It was so cold…and I couldn't breathe…"

He hadn't known whether it was Luke or Lucas at that point, to be honest.

"Lucas…"

"And he wanted to see someone," Lucas said, choking a bit. "The Professor. He missed the Professor."

"Did he…?"

"I think he died. Thirteen years old and he died like that…don't ask how I know how old he was, I just do, all of a sudden…" Lucas finished. He felt foolish and relieved and a whole mess of other emotions that defied rational naming as they were so tangled together as to be indistinguishable.

"Lucas…" the Professor said after a moment, his tone odd, "…these other dreams of yours. What kinds of things have happened in them?" He stood and walked towards the back of the tent, still holding the photocopy in his hand.

"Umm…" Lucas thought back on his dreams, extremely grateful for the change of subject. "There was one on a staircase. The building was collapsing, and we—I mean, they were running down the stairs and trying to get out, and—"

"Part of the stairwell collapsed after being hit by a falling boulder," Leighton interrupted. "The boy keeps going down the stairs, while the man, who you think is this Professor Layton, and the girl—"

"Who looks a hell of a lot like Daisy Rainholt—"

"Go back upstairs to find another way out," Leighton finished.

By now the two were gaping at each other.

Comprehension dawned. "Professor, you've…"

"Only a few of them, and just recently," the Professor admitted.

Lucas stood up. "But…wait, what the hell does this mean?"

"Damned if I know," Leighton said bluntly. He looked back down at the paper before dropping it on his cot, like it had burned him. "This does not make sense, my boy."

"…that's what Hershel Layton always called him," Lucas said with a mirthless laugh. His eyes were burning again, and he hated it. "My boy. Luke, my boy. Come along, my boy. Always called Luke that."

Despite the fact that he had just stood up, Lucas suddenly found that his legs would not support him any longer. He was just too tired. He sagged down to the ground and leaned back against his bags at the foot of his cot. "I don't know, Professor. I just want the dreams to stop…" He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. "I don't want to have to feel that kid's death again…"

There was the padding of footsteps coming towards him, and then the Professor was dropping down to kneel on the ground beside him. For a moment they sat in silence, with only the rain pattering beyond the tent walls to temper the quiet.

Finally, the Professor spoke. "There has to be an explanation for this…what could Layton and this Luke boy possibly have to do with us?"

"…I can think of one, but it's not really realistic," Lucas said, feeling vaguely ashamed for even thinking something so ridiculous as this. "I don't really believe in magic or any of that crap. But it's the only thing I can think of that fits."

"I'll take anything at this point," Leighton said.

"It's really out there, and I know you like science and things with proof."

"This is true. But sometimes an illogical answer is the correct one, against all odds. And sometimes it takes a crazy idea to reach a solution. At the very least, it's an idea to start us off."

"…well…" Lucas hesitated, then asked, "What are your thoughts on reincarnation?" It was ludicrous, but it was the only thing that he could think of that fit all the pieces of the puzzle. "I mean…it would explain why this Hershel Layton and this Luke kid keep popping up in our dreams, right?" Given what Lucas knew of Luke's emotions, it would explain a lot more than that…

Professor Leighton raised an eyebrow. "Lucas, that is a bit far-fetched."

"I know…"

"…but I do agree with you that it fits everything…" Leighton said. He sounded…defeated, almost?

"…if that's the case, then I'm Luke," Lucas said, finally just acknowledging what he had already suspected without even knowing that he was suspecting it. "And you're…"

"…Professor Hershel Layton," the Professor said quietly, then chuckled; it was a sad noise, completely void of humor. "This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. I can't belive either of us is even considering this kind of an answer. Completely illogical—"

"Please don't mock me. After all, every puzzle has an answer," Lucas said softly, quoting. He glanced off to the side, away from his teacher. "Isn't that what you always used to say, Professor?"

Another bout of silence. The rain seemed to be falling a bit heavier now. How fitting.

As they sat there, it occurred to Lucas that this was the closest he and the Professor had ever been to each other, save for that night in the office when he had fallen and the Professor had been leaning over him to make certain that he was not injured. Lucas himself was leaning back against his bags beside his cot; Leighton was kneeling, his knees just brushing Lucas' side. It was oddly comforting to know that the man was that close…

Close enough to reach out and touch, if need be…

"How much of Layton's head could you get into?" Lucas asked after a moment.

"I guess I could see a fair amount of what was inside his head."

"…what were his feelings towards Luke?"

Another pregnant pause before the reply. "There was great pride in the boy. Concern…" Leighton trailed off, as though another thought had occurred to him. "…what did Luke feel towards his Professor?"

"…respect. Admiration," he said, then chuckled. "Honestly? I think the kid might have had a crush on the guy. That's just what it feels like." He covered his eyes with his sleeve, feeling them grow watery again as his breathing started to shake. Why was he crying over a schoolboy's crush on a beloved teacher? "Just a crush, stupid puppy love…"

That hand on his shoulder again, such a warm, comforting weight. "Luke?"

…Luke.

He called him Luke.

It seemed to take him a moment to realize what he had said, and he quickly amended, "Lucas?"

Now the boy looked up towards his teacher. His mentor. He was sure he looked an absolute mess, with his hair all mussed and his eyes red and watery for reasons that he dared not admit to himself, let alone to the person who was the subject of them. "…Professor?"

Another of those pauses that seemed to stretch into eternity. And goodness, they were close…

The move was mutual, simultaneous, as if by some unspoken agreement.

They both moved their heads forward, tilting—

And their lips found each other.

_**-o-**_

_When the post comes, he goes and retrieves the mail, along with the morning newspaper. There are the normal things, including a couple of requests for his services in places out of town. He skims through all of them before getting to the paper. He flips it open and begins to read._

_And the letters drop from his hand to a pile on the floor as he reads the headline._

_**SHIP SINKS – HUNDREDS LOST**_

_He quickly reads over the article, and discovers which ship it was that sank. His heart sinks as well._

_She is behind him now, asking what is wrong, what has happened. She reads over his shoulder, and he hears her gasp, a murmur of disbelief, that it can't possibly be true or right. There is no way that he could possibly be…_

_As if on cue, there is a knock at the door._

_She gathers the fallen mail from the floor while he goes to answer the door, the fateful paper still clutched tightly in his hand. At the door is a grizzled police inspector, one he knows from previous cases worked on together. Unfortunately, this does not seem to be a friendly visit, nor are there any pleasantries to be exchanged. This is business, and a tragic business at that._

_When the Inspector reluctantly asks if he could possibly come downtown and identify a body, the paper follows the example of the letters and flutters from his nerveless fingers to the floor. Behind him, he hears her gasp again, and then she starts to cry._

_He rather wishes he could do the same._


	8. Physical Education

**AN:** Part of this chapter was removed so as not to risk deletion by the ff-dot-net Powers That Be. The chapter in its complete form can be read on my fic-journal on LJ, if anyone is interested. Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments and kind words. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I don't own Professor Layton. Thanks for reading! Much love!

**Physical Education**

The rest of the night was a bit of a fog. Lucas could remember the press of the Professor's lips, the taste of a tongue pressing against his, the feel of fingers tangling in his hair, and the heady realization that the best kiss of his life was not coming from a girl, but from his teacher. His mentor.

He fell asleep on the floor of the tent, curled against the warmth and feeling those gentle fingers ghosting over his hair, his face, and the faint taste of tea and mint still on his lips, and the strange sensation that he was crying again, even though he had no idea why…

But when he woke up, things looked a little different by the light of the morning sun. And he should have expected that, along with the aching back from sleeping in such an odd position on such an uncomfortable surface. His neck was so sore that he could barely move it, and every muscle screamed in protest as he tried to do something as simple as sitting up.

A moment later, he glanced around the tent and realized that there was more amiss than just his aching joints. Both cots were gone, along with his bedding and the bag it had been packed into. The only thing left was a pillow (which some thoughtful soul had placed beneath his head) and the bag holding his clothes and things. All of the Professor's things were gone.

…somehow, Lucas did not think that this was a good sign.

Still, he changed out of his pajamas and into daywear as quickly as his sore, aching body would allow. He felt physically well rested, but mentally he was tired. And intellectually, he knew that today was going to be difficult. At the very least, it would be awkward.

Sticking his head out of the tent proved him right.

Leighton was in the packed Jeep, sitting sideways on the driver's side with his legs hanging out the door. His head was leaning against the back of the seat, and his eyes were closed. He looked tired, and he actually seemed to be murmuring to himself, if the small movements of his mouth were any indication. But Lucas couldn't hear what, if anything, he was actually saying. Not until he crept a bit closer and heard soft snippets of it. Words like 'idiot,' 'fool,' and the like.

It startled Lucas to realize what the Professor was saying: he was actually ireprimanding himself./i

At a loss, Lucas cleared his throat.

The result was immediate. Leighton jumped a mile, sitting straight up in the seat, and blinked owlishly at Lucas, now standing a mere couple of yards away. Lucas looked right back at him; for whatever reason, he was completely unafraid of meeting the Professor's eyes squarely. He was, however, afraid of what he might find when he looked there.

And what he found was shame and worry and a hint of something else that he didn't dare try to name. But most incredible of all was the one thing he had expected to find there, but now ididn't/i see. And that one thing was…

Regret.

There was absolutely no regret there at all.

Which meant…

"Good morning," Lucas said. Strange how calm he felt now.

A flash of surprise at the casual greeting. "Good morning," the Professor said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby," Lucas said, moving to put his bag on the back of the Jeep. "You?"

"…not terribly well."

"If you need me to drive part of the way, I can. Just tell me," Lucas said, heading back towards the tent. Where was this casualness coming from? How could he act like this when just thinking about what had happened the night before sent his stomach doing back flips that would make most gymnasts jealous. "Should we get the tent taken down?"

They quickly disassembled the tent and got it packed away and back into the Jeep. There was little conversation to be had during that endeavor. Leighton seemed content to look almost everywhere except for directly at Lucas, and Lucas' mind was drifting back to the night before and the dreams and the conversation and the kiss that had just turned his world upside down.

But soon enough, they were back in the Jeep and driving out towards the site. Leighton drove, while Lucas rode shotgun. And this time, the silence between them was heavy, thick with things neither dared say aloud. It was the most tension there had ever been between them. And it stretched on for ages; probably well over an hour was spent with the two of them riding in that awful silence.

Finally, Lucas just couldn't take it anymore. He turned to look at his mentor and asked, "Why won't you talk to me? No, better yet, why won't you even look at me?" It was only now that a thin spiral of anger began to uncoil itself inside him, but he kept himself as neutral as possible.

Leighton still did not look at him. But he did answer. "I should not have done that. You were upset. We were both upset. It was taking advantage of you and of our situation. To say nothing of it all being completely unethical."

"Unethical?" Lucas barely bit back a laugh that suddenly bubbled in the back of his throat, but he just found the whole thing completely ridiculous. "When are feelings ever ethical, Professor?" Feelings. That was a dangerous word to use. "And you didn't take advantage of me."

"I did—"

"I'm nineteen. I'm an adult. I'm legal," Lucas said bluntly. "And I can make my own decisions. I made a decision last night. And," he took a deep breath, "I don't regret that decision. I stand by it."

"You're too young to understand."

"Too young. That's a hell of a thing to say."

"It's the truth."

"It's an excuse," Luke snapped, his temper breaking for the first time since he had woken up this morning. "Because whatever is going on in your head right now is something you don't want to face or discuss or figure out. I don't know why, but Professor, I don't think you really regret it. I think you regret the difficulties it might cause, but I don't think you regret the action itself. No matter what you say."

"Lucas," Leighton interjected, his voice the coldest the young man had ever heard it. "Enough."

After a moment of tense, awkward silence, Lucas felt like he had to do something. And what he needed to do right now, desperately, was just _get away._ Get away from the Professor and his anger and why he couldn't just say what he thought anymore.

It was then that Lucas did one of the stupidest things he had ever done in his life. He unbuckled his seatbelt, ignoring the Professor's startled question as to what he was doing. There were no doors on the Jeep, so from there it was a simple matter of shifting to swing his legs to the side of the seat…

And he jumped out of the moving Jeep.

As he hit the ground, he landed hard and tumbled away from the vehicle. It hurt, but it didn't feel like anything was broken or damaged, and he was able to actually get up and start stumbling away. He heard the screech of brakes, and the Jeep's engine died, and footsteps running towards him through the brush, which he ignored in favor of trying to walk away and just get some distance—

A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

"Lucas!" Leighton barked. He was no longer the calm, collected, pleasant man he always appeared to be. Right now, he was _livid,_ visibly alarmed at the admittedly stupid thing Lucas had just done. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Were the situation any less precarious, Lucas probably would have taken a strange amount of pleasure in the fact that he had managed to crack that façade and get the man angry. Right now, it just made him angry himself. "Let go of me!" he demanded, trying to pull his arm back in spite of the fact that it hurt. His arm hurt, his leg hurt, his head hurt, EVERYTHING HURT, and he was angry and needed to get away because this was just too much right now…

"You're acting like a child—"

That was as far as Leighton got before Luke, desperate to just get away and have a little distance between them, hauled back and took a swing at his teacher. The hit made contact on Leighton's arm, and was hard enough to startle the man into letting go.

But he recovered quickly, and Lucas found himself being grabbed by the front of his shirt before he could take more than a couple of steps backwards. He heard his name loudly, angrily, but paid it no mind. He hooked a leg behind the Professor's and pushed, knocking him backwards to the ground. But this time, Leighton did not let go, and Lucas was pulled down with him.

The struggle went on for minutes, pushing and pulling and striking out at each other, until finally Leighton managed to get a solid grip on Lucas' wrists and push him back down, straddling his stomach to use his own weight as leverage, and pinning his arms to the ground over his head.

"Leggo," Lucas growled, pulling at his arms.

"Calm down!" Leighton said harshly. "You're not acting like yourself. Calm down!"

Suddenly it was like all the fight went out of the student, and he slumped back into the dirt, his panting for air a match with his mentor's. His glare, however, was no less venomous for his lack of a struggle, even though his eyes were starting to feel very damp.

And they just sat there like that for what felt like an eternity, glaring and gasping…

The minute Leighton's hands loosened their hold on Lucas' wrists, Lucas moved. He grabbed the front of the Professor's shirt and pulled him down against him to catch his lips in a harsh, bruising kiss, wrapping his arms and legs around the man as best he could to keep him in place.

…and Leighton was kissing him back.

_**-o-**_

If either of them had thought that the aftermath of the kiss was awkward and difficult to navigate, they had obviously thought a little too soon. The kiss was nothing compared to this.

For what felt like a very long time after it was over, they both just lay there, pressed against each other as the haze and pleasure and everything wrapped around them and hide the world away. But sadly, all such things much come to an end, and as that haze wore off, reality clocked back in, and they realized where they were and what they had just done.

Even something as simple as getting redressed was difficult. Neither of them dared to look directly at each other as they pulled clothes back into place and tried to clean up the resulting mess. And eventually they both climbed back into the Jeep, looking relatively presentable in spite of the fact that they both still felt a bit sticky.

Neither of them spoke for a very long time. Leighton drove, his face completely blank and void of expression, his eyes straight ahead. Lucas rode in the passenger seat, as before, but his eyes stayed straight out to the side, away from his teacher. Before this had happened, with the aftermath of the kiss, he had been angry. Angry at feeling like he had been brushed aside, at being told he was too young, that he did not understand…

Now…

…now he just felt guilty.

Because Leighton had made it fairly clear that there should not be a repeat performance. He had more or less said that considering all the facts and everything in the situation, this was wrong. And with that statement, the man had pretty much indicated his intention to leave it at the kiss.

And Lucas had behaved like a petulant child. He had gotten worked up and thrown a tantrum, and look what had happened. He'd practically forced the Professor to the ground, and after the struggle—

He had kissed him again. And everything had come and gone from that second kiss.

There was no question as to whether or not it was consensual. Oh no, there was no doubt about that, and he was fairly sure that neither of them would ever contest it. The Professor had been as willing a participant as Lucas himself was. This was not forced. They both wanted it.

The guilt, as far as Lucas was concerned, lay in the fact that he had started it, despite the Professor's indicated wishes that nothing more happen between them of such a nature. It was strange and amusing and terrible all at once, Lucas thought, how one of the most exhilarating and delicious things he had ever done could also be one of the most horrendously guilt-wracked moments of his young life.

And they had been riding in silence for far too long, to the point where he almost wanted to jump out of the Jeep again. But the dull ache in his leg reminded him that he had been very lucky about that the first time, to have escaped without injury. To try again would be tempting fate in a way that he did not even want to attempt. And besides, hadn't he already done enough to the Professor?

…although he nearly smiled at the mental image of the Professor driving away and leaving him there in the brush. Why he smiled, he was not sure. Perhaps it was simply that he wouldn't blame the man.

But he needed to say something. He was supposed to be there as Leighton's assistant, and if they were not on speaking terms, it was going to make for a very difficult, very long summer. And more than anything else, truth be told, Lucas really did miss the conversation.

He swallowed hard, thought very carefully for a moment, and then spoke up. "Professor?" His voice cracked harshly, and he nearly winced at the sound of it.

Leighton actually jumped slightly at the sudden intrusion into the awful silence. "Yes, my boy?" he said. The familiar phrase gave Lucas some hope, and the Professor's carefully controlled tone of calm seemed like it could be a good sign. Maybe, just maybe…

He took another deep breath and began to speak. "You're in a room, and you have only one match. You have a choice to make. You can either light the lamp to light the room, the fireplace to warm the room, or the candle to carry with you. Which do you light first?"

A puzzle. The first brick in the bridge that had brought them together. It was a risk, but still…

There was a long pause. Lucas could almost hear the gears turning in the Professor's head, though his expression stayed completely neutral for quite a time. Just when Lucas was about to tell the Professor to forget it, he was kidding, and let that tense silence lapse again, he heard a noise.

Was that…?

…the Professor actually chuckled. And a very small smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"The match, my boy," Leighton said. "You'd light the match first."

_**-o-**_

"We're almost there," Leighton said. There were, indeed, lights in the distance.

Once that first puzzle had broken the ice, there had been conversation of a quiet kind, mostly trading riddles and mindteasers. It had kept things from getting tense again, kept them both calm and talking. Now as the site was approaching, something had to be said.

Surprisingly, this time it was Leighton who said it. "Lucas, whatever happened back there…" he paused, nervously, then said, "We have to…I mean, we need to—"

"Professor, I'm not going to breathe a word to anyone," Lucas said. He smiled brightly, feeling like himself for the first time in nearly a day. "And I'm really looking forward to working with you on this. So don't worry about that, okay?"

He wasn't sure if that was exactly what he was going to be asked, but it certainly seemed to be enough. "Thank you, Lucas," Leighton said. "I think we're in for a very interesting summer."

…somehow, Lucas couldn't help but wonder if the Professor was solely referring to the excavation.

But as they arrived on the site, he was pleased to see other people around. That was a good thing, definitely a good thing. And it looked like there would be no further need for tents, either, as there were rows of campers and similar vehicles along one edge of the clearing. Whoever had been organizing this was definitely on top of their game.

And hey, he could stand sharing a camper with the Professor. Nothing else would happen.

…right?


	9. Health

**AN:** New chapter, yay! I'll also take this opportunity to point out that there is actually another scene that goes directly after this chapter, but it will not be posted here for reasons that will probably be obvious. As before, it's posted on my LJ. I don't own Professor Layton. Just messing with 'em. Hope you enjoy the chapter. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!

**Health**

It was all a lot like what Lucas had expected, really. He spent a fair amount of his time getting very, very dirty and sweaty out on the site. The Yucatan peninsula was well known for being very warm and very humid. Being out in the middle of the jungle, where they were, did not help matters very much. Still, he more or less did what he was told, drank plenty of water, and kept busy.

And in spite of their worries, both voiced and unvoiced, regarding the situation between him and the Professor, Lucas had found that it was a moot point. Most days he staggered back into the camper they shared, had enough energy to inhale a meal and bathe, and then promptly collapsed into bed and slept soundly until the next daybreak.

It wasn't always the most exciting or glamorous effort. Some days could be spent simply brushing dirt from walls. And on more than one occasion he had been fairly certain that he had managed to throw his back out. But despite all of that, he was only slightly surprised to find that he absolutely loved it, every single minute of it.

And even though everything that had happened between them should have made things awkward, he and the Professor were getting along well. It almost felt like it used to, those evenings spent huddled over the desk in Leighton's office working on this or that. They talked, they worked together, and at night they slept each at their respective end of the camper. Not that there was a great deal of energy for doing much else, to be sure.

Still, it bothered Lucas a bit. They were going about it as though nothing had ever happened, which was good for the situation. But in terms of the reality of things…it had happened. And that was not going to chance. And what was worse was the fact that whenever he thought about it…

Gah. He was turning into one of those empty-headed idiots in those stupid romance stories.

But duty called, and so he went about work as usual, enjoying learning from the expertise of Leighton and Nazolene, and meeting all sorts of people in the field. Until one morning, after they had been on the site for nearly two months without any incident and July was just about to turn into August…

The knock on the door was far too loud, and Lucas squeezed his eyes shut and made a little sound. It was awfully bright in here, even through his eyelids, which meant that the sun was up. What time was it? He was usually wide awake before it was anywhere near this bright.

…and why did his head hurt so much?

"Lucaaaas?" a female voice sang.

Normally it wouldn't have bothered him, but right now it hearing it made him feel like the entire company of Riverdance had just set up shop inside his head and were busily rehearsing their most complicated routine. He made a noise of protest and tried to pull the blankets up over his head.

"Lucas? Come on, you're late," the same voice said, and he heard a rustle to indicate that the curtain separating his bunk from the rest of the camper had been pushed aside. "Come on, you're always on time, so you're not in trouble, but Leighton sent me to find you anyway. Hustle."

He managed to roll over onto his back, something that took far more effort than it should have, and cracked his eyes open to look up at her. Clara was another student who had accompanied Nazolene to the site, in a situation not unlike Lucas and Leighton. And, he had noticed, Clara seemed to have taken a bit of a shine to the Professor. But Lucas couldn't really hold that against her because one, he totally understood that feeling, and two, she was one of the sweetest people he had ever met, and he did like her and enjoy her company.

But right now he wished she would go away. And take the sun with her.

As his eyes closed again, he heard her make a sound, and then a rustle that indicated the curtain had slid back into place. Lucas was, to say the least, extremely relieved, and began to doze off again. He felt awful, his stomach hurt, his head ached, and everything just felt very warm…even though he was shivering beneath his bedding.

Unfortunately, his respite did not last long.

"Lucas?" This time it was the Professor's voice that invaded the quiet as the curtain rustled aside, and was accompanied by the touch of a cool hand on his forehead. "Are you all right, my boy?"

Lucas didn't answer, not really. He just let out a soft mumble of relief at the cool touch, and a moan of protest when it was taken away. But he did not open his eyes again, not even when the curtain closed and he heard voices talking beyond it. They were just far enough away and just quiet enough that he couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but he was still coherent enough to know that they were talking about him.

…and he didn't have much longer to think about it before he once again dozed off. And this time, he was undisturbed for quite some time. Or at least, he was pretty sure that it was quite some time. When he next opened his eyes, the sun had shifted a bit and was no longer directly in his face.

He sat up and looked around, still feeling awful. He certainly wasn't going to go out and help with the dig right now as things were. But he was sort of hungry, and he wanted to know what was going on…

The camper door opened, and he heard his name. The Professor again. And the curtain again swished aside. "Ah, you're awake," he said, smiling. Again that hand reached out and brushed Lucas' bangs aside to rest against his forehead. The smile faded slightly. "Still warm. You have quite a fever, my boy."

"Oh…" It was all Lucas could muster up to say.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "We have a doctor on staff here. He said that you're quite lucky, as it appears to be nothing more than a bug. There are some nasty illnesses out here. You dodged quite a bullet, Lucas. But you're to stay in bed and rest until your temperature goes back down."

Lucas nodded. "Okay…" He certainly wasn't going to argue on the issue, even if he'd had the presence of mind to do so. Staying in bed sounded quite delightful to him.

"Is there anything you want? Or need?" Leighton asked.

_I want you to stay here with me,_ Lucas thought glumly, but it would sound incredibly childish of him to admit that he really didn't want to be left alone right now. Instead he just mumbled something about his throat burning and being hungry, hoping the message would be received. But judging by the fact that Leighton left and returned moments later with a couple bottles of water and something to eat, it came across loud and clear.

…and to his amazement, Leighton again sat down on the edge of the bed. "Would you like me to keep you company?" he asked calmly. "They can do without me for a while. And I'm worried about you."

Somehow, that made Lucas feel a tiny bit better. "Thank you," he rasped.

Later that night , Lucas had another nightmare. This was not like his usual dreams; there was nothing of the boy named Luke in them. Instead, it was the Professor. He was hurt and bleeding and not moving, sprawled out on the ground. And there was a man standing nearby, lost in the shadows, cackling something about his revenge.

He heard Leighton's voice then, calling his name, and Lucas couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep anymore. Frightened and confused, he grabbed the Professor's arm and held on for dear life, refusing to let go for anything. Even if he was badly hurt, the Professor was safe. That was all that mattered.

When he woke up early the next morning, feeling a fair amount better but by no means completely back to his normal self, he found the Professor lying beside him on the bed. The real Professor, his arm clutched tightly against Lucas, half-pinned beneath the student's body. Leighton's eyes were closed; he was relaxed and lost to slumber.

Lucas knew he should wake the man up, let go of his arm, and let him go get some real rest in his own bed. But despite knowing that, he didn't do it. He just…stared.

He had never actually seen the Professor like this. For all the time they had been sharing quarters, he had never seen the Professor asleep like this. The time on the plane didn't count. That was in uncomfortable seats, a quick nap. For that night in the tent, he had been the first one to nod off. And now to not only see it, but to see it this close…

Leighton somehow still managed to look refined, even while unconscious. His breathing was steady, calm, even. Lucas let himself just study the man's face for a moment, enjoying the sight of him so relaxed and at peace. And it made something deep inside of Lucas do a backflip. This was wrong, he shouldn't do this, he should just let it all go and—

He hesitated, then moved ever so slightly to press a very careful kiss to Leighton's forehead.

The Professor murmured something in his sleep…and actually inched _closer_ to Lucas, moving his free arm to loop around Lucas' waist. His face wound up perhaps an inch away from the young man's.

Lucas swallowed hard. He could only imagine how well this was going to go over when Leighton woke up in the morning and found them situated like this. Especially after everything had been going so well. They were only here for another few weeks, and everything that had happened before was almost completely behind them…

But try as he might, Lucas couldn't bring himself to do anything but lean against the warm body stretched out beside his own and close his eyes, enjoying the scent and the feel and wishing that somehow, somewhere, something could have been different.

He fell asleep again, and woke up in the proper morning to an empty space beside him. How Leighton had gotten his arm free, he wasn't sure, but it didn't matter too much. When the man came back to see how he was doing, there was an odd look in his eyes, an odd note in his voice. He was not terribly pleased, but again, there was no actual regret there.

Lucas nearly shivered at that look as he realized what it meant.

What had happened before _wasn't_ behind them. The Professor thought about it as much as he did. And last night's accidental adventure had put a crack in that careful wall, separating them now from what had happened back then. This was not yet over.

And things were going to come to a head very, very soon.

_**-o-**_

Since the night they had inadvertently spent in the same bed, things had been tense between teacher and student. It wasn't quite so palatable to those around them as it might have been in the beginning, as Lucas was now confident enough to function on his own on the site and so did not always have to spend as much time around the Professor as he once had.

But still, the tension was actually to the point where both Clara and Nazolene had commented on the fact that the two barely seemed to be on speaking terms and was everything okay? Lucas had chuckled, admitted that he and the Professor had 'butted heads' on an issue, but it wasn't important, and things were absolutely fine.

Leighton had been easily within ear shot, and had made no comment.

And Lucas was trying to deal with the simplest of facts: he had enjoyed the kiss, that animalistic moment in the woods, and the night he had woken up to the Professor's face being so close to his. He had liked all of it, and he wanted to experience all of it again.

But trying to analyze all of that was leading him to a conclusion that he knew he could never actually make a reality. Hell, it was a conclusion that he wasn't even sure he wanted to draw in the first place. But there didn't seem to be any way around it. And the silence was killing him.

Which was why he approached the Professor a couple of nights later. Lucas still wasn't completely back to his old self; whatever that bug he had gotten was, he could not seem to shake it, and even after three days in bed, his temperature was still high. But it was down enough that he could get up and move around, though they had opted to keep him away from work for a while longer. This was both for the sake of his own health, and for the health of those around him.

So he was shivering ever so slightly as he stood there, watching the Professor. The man was sitting at the small table in the camper, reading over something. Lucas swallowed hard and tried to steel his shaky nerves. He was scared to do this, but at the same time, they couldn't go on like this.

Or rather, Lucas couldn't. "Professor?"

Something about the way the man's shoulders tensed made Lucas think that this had been expected, and he wasn't entirely sure what to think of that. But the calm façade came right back up as Leighton turned to look at him. "Yes, my boy?"

"We…" Another swallow to try and dislodge the lump from his throat. "…we need to talk."

A flicker of emotion that vanished immediately, but was enough to confirm what Lucas suspected: Leighton ihad/i been expecting this, probably even waiting for it. And his sigh and next words gave absolute confirmation: "I knew this would happen." He gave Lucas a measuring look. "What exactly is it that you want from me?"

"I don't know," Lucas said, flat-out lying through his teeth. "What do you want?"

"What I want is irrelevant," Leighton said, standing. The papers were forgotten on the table. "As I said before, it is a question of ethics, Lucas, and everything we have done so far has been extremely unethical on my part. The consequences could mean ruin."

"Of course. Ethics," Lucas practically spat the words out. "Appearances before happiness, of course." Thus far, this conversation (as heated as it was starting to get) had barely risen above a whisper. There were other people around, in close enough proximity that someone could all too easily overhear something, and if someone did…

"It's not only a question of appearances," Leighton said.

"That's all you seem concerned about."

"Lucas, I could lose everything. At some point, I do have to worry for myself."

"And to hell with everyone else."

"You're not listening."

"I will when you say something that's not a repeat of everything you've said before," Lucas said. "But whatever the case may be, this can't go on like this. I need to know where we stand, once and for all. Because it's driving me crazy." Something deep inside his stomach was starting to shake, to clench and coil, and he felt sick again. "I just need to know…"

"What exactly is it that you want?" Leighton asked, a repeat of his earlier question.

"Do I really need to tell you?" Lucas was startled to actually hear himself laugh, even though he felt like he wanted to cry. He had never cried this much before in his life, but his heart felt like it was breaking into pieces, and the resulting ache echoed, hollow and painful inside him. "For god's sake, you're too intelligent to be that stupid."

"You truly don't know what you're asking of me, do you, my boy?" Leighton said. He was so flat right now, emotionless in his words and voice, yet Lucas could see every muscle in his body shaking from the effort of restraint. That was the Professor's way, though, no matter what he wanted, though Lucas was certain that the Professor wanted this as much as he did. He had felt the man against him, seen those little looks, read his expressions…but it was always propriety, appearances, reserved emotions.

And somehow, that thought did what nothing else had been able to do thus far.

"…I'm sorry."

…it broke him.

The words were barely audible, but rang out through the small, confined space with all the force and thunder of a church bell. The tension vanished as Leighton now gawked at him without reservation, opened his mouth to speak—

"You're right," Lucas said before the Professor could say anything. He was mortified to feel his eyes dampen, and he blinked rapidly in a desperate, vain attempt to keep those tears at bay. Goddammit, why couldn't he handle this like a normal person? "I don't know. You were right about everything. And if anything gets out, you're the one who's going to suffer, not me. And I'm being selfish."

…was it really such a crime, though, to be selfish? Everyone was like that sometimes when it was important. Wanting food, wanting attention, wanting comfort, wanting someone. There was no shame in being selfish like that, in just wanting, and no shame in desiring someone for one's very own, Lucas decided. It became unforgivable, though, when wanting became motion, when desire became action, and that action imperiled the other person. And he had become that peril. At the very least, he was a threat to Leighton's very career.

Ergo, he was selfish, and unforgivably so.

Lucas took a step back, absently rubbing at his eyes with the back of one hand and hoping that the Professor wouldn't realize what he was doing, though he was quite sure that it was a vain hope. His other arm had moved to wrap around his stomach. He was suddenly very cold, on top of still feeling a bit under the weather from being sick, and now he felt ashamed of all of this, of what he had caused. "I'm sorry, Professor," he murmured, looking down. "I'm sorry that I feel what I do for you, and I'm sorry it's causing you so much trouble."

"Lucas—"

The bathroom door was next to him, and he thought he saw an escape there. "It's all right. I mean, it's fine," he said, only partially lying right through his teeth. "I won't bring it up again. Now if you'll excuse me, I need a sh-shower."

His voice broke on the last word, and he dove into the bathroom, hoping desperately that Leighton had not seen how badly he was falling apart. He tried to shove the door closed, but only succeeded in knocking it back against the frame; it bounced back and inched open a bit. Lucas slid to the floor and sat there, biting the back of his hand to keep himself from letting anything out.

If he let it loose now, he was going to howl, and that would take some explaining.

Somehow, he felt like he shouldn't have been too surprised when the door slowly opened the rest of the way a couple of moments later. There wasn't much room in the tiny bathroom, barely enough for Lucas to curl up on the floor with his back against the wall.

_Goddammit…_

He pushed himself back to his feet, determined to just get away for a moment. But that proved to be an impossibility when hands gripped his shoulders and tugged, spinning him around, and then those same hands pulled him forward and then his face was pressed against a T-shirt that swallowed all the tiny hiccups of his withheld sobs.

Lucas felt like a horrible fool. "Let go…" he mumbled, mustering up the barest struggle. He didn't have the energy for much else. "Just let go…" Strange. Was he talking to the Professor, or himself?

He couldn't decide if he was thrilled or not when the arms around his shoulders tightened. "Lucas, you need to calm down." Odd, the Professor's voice was not usually that rough. The last time he had sounded like that, he was angry and then they had—

"But—"

There was the brush of lips against his forehead; it was like an electrical shock. "Calm down."

"You were right the whole time, right about everything," he mumbled sadly, angrily. "I'm too young, I don't understand enough. All I seem to do is make trouble for you because I can't see past what I want. I'm just a stupid brat who went and did something awful."

"What did you do that was truly so awful?"

There was a momentary jumble in his head as flashes of his own realizations intermingled with flashes of memories that were his and yet not truly his as he remembered dreams and thoughts and emotions, and before he could stop himself he blurted out the single wonderful, horrible truth.

"I love you."

…he was truly unforgiveable.

Lucas expected to be shoved away immediately and left alone to stew in everything. He had gone too far. A kiss was one thing, hell even sex was one thing, but love? This was beyond the pale, too much, would never accept any of it…

It took him a very long moment to realize that he was not being shoved aside. In fact, the Professor's arms seemed to be tightening around him, pulling him closer. And he was shaking again.

It was then that all the fight seemed to flood out of the Professor, and he sort of slumped forward against Lucas, his chin on the boy's shoulder. "You're a child…" he murmured. It almost sounded like he was more trying to convince himself of this fact than to actually make a valid argument. "A child…"

"I'm not a child. I'm nineteen," Lucas said, finally gaining the presence of mind to wrap his arms back around the Professor. "And I know what I want." The rest of that thought would remain unvoiced. He really didn't have the strength anymore.

"Foolish boy…" Leighton was muttering now, more to himself than to Lucas. That didn't stop him from very gently pushing Lucas back against the door, still keeping the two of them pressed together. "Foolish child…both of us, such fools…" He was still mumbling as he drew back enough to look at Lucas properly. "Not proper, not right…"

"Professor?" Lucas asked softly, suddenly unsure.

And that was the end of the conversation as Leighton's lips pressed against Lucas'.


	10. Final Exam

**AN: **Second to last chapter, yay! I hope you enjoy. I don't own Professor Layton. Thanks for reading!

**Final Exam**

_She follows him down to the station with the police officer, in spite of the man's concern that such a place is no place for a young lady. But she has a rare display of that stubborn streak of hers, and refuses to be deterred from this. She has to see for herself, she says._

_He permits her, and is silently grateful for her presence. Somehow, he thinks he will need it._

_They follow the Inspector past the front desk and into a fairly large room. There are forms hidden beneath sheets. That is why they are here now, after all. There are three people that they are here to see, in a manner of speaking. He has met two of them on occasion, and knows one very well._

_The first sheet is pulled aside: a woman. He nods, telling the Inspector what the Inspector really already knows. But a positive identification is needed. Procedure is procedure, even in the face of great human tragedy. And the second sheet is much the same, although this time the person laid out on the table is an adult male. Again, he identifies the person with a nod._

_Now they come to the third one, this one smaller than the others. The size of a child. The Inspector draws the pristine white sheet back, revealing the boy on the table beneath it._

_For a moment, he is certain that he will be ill._

_But he is saved from that by the sound of a gasp beside him, hands clutching at his coat, a face pressing into his shirt and weeping with murmurs of disbelief. It is a distraction, and he welcomes it. It gives him an excuse to look away, to not have to see the bright, vivacious lad he knew looking like that. But he has to give the Inspector an affirmative._

_No matter how much it kills him to do it._

_As the sheet is replaced, he meets the Inspector's look, which is both quizzical and sympathetic. He already knows, but they needed an outside identification. And while he holds the sobbing girl close, he gives an answer that he despises._

_**Yes,**_ _he says, and it is really all he needs to say. But his eyes move back to the sheet in spite of his best efforts not to, and he hears the boy's name drop from his own lips and shattering in the air, like the tiniest fragments of broken glass._

_**Luke…**_

_**-o-**_

The last couple of weeks passed quickly, and the summer was over.

Lucas found it surprisingly difficult to say goodbye to everyone at the site. After all of them living together like they had for as long as they had, they had become a sort of odd Gypsy family. They had grown fond of each other, though their primary mission on the site was business. A few of them were staying behind to finish cataloging and all the other things that needed to be done, but many of them, like the Professor, were teachers, and the school year was going to start soon.

Clara in particular surprised him when she ran up and threw her arms around him in a huge hug. It surprised him a bit, given that he was sure she liked the Professor, but still, he was not going to shove her away. He had decided that he rather liked her. And they exchanged email addresses, with her telling him that he had better write, or else. He grinned and gave his word that he would do exactly that.

Before long, they were back in the Jeep and on their way back through the jungle, back towards civilization and beds and fast food and all the other necessities of life that Lucas was surprised to realize that he had managed to go almost three months without. It was going to strange to be in a place where there weren't trees on all four sides, where he didn't stand a chance of seeing some exotic animal (which he had on several occasions, much to his delight), where dirt didn't somehow wind up becoming a part of his daily diet, and where…

Well, where he wasn't seeing the Professor every day.

"I can't believe it's over," Lucas admitted after they had been driving for a while.

Leighton chuckled. "Time does fly when you're having fun, doesn't it?"

"Fun doesn't even begin to cover that," Lucas said. "You know, at the beginning of the year, I told Clark that if you got me to like history, then you're a freakin' miracle worker. I think those might even be my exact words. So congratulations, you are Annie Sullivan."

The reference made the Professor laugh out loud. "I am flattered, my boy."

…how was it possible that things were so calm between them? It had been a little more than two weeks since that beautiful night. Ever since that had happened, it was like the tension had vanished. They were at ease, happy, and enjoying each other's company. It was wonderful, to be honest, and made the student wonder if perhaps his teacher had…oh, he didn't know, accepted what had happened and what was happening? He wasn't entirely sure, but he was happy with it.

But there was still an unfortunate little voice niggling around in the back of his mind, pointing out that while the affair might make them both happy and they might both be willing adults, the Professor had been right. If what had happened between them was discovered, it would ruin Leighton, and quite possibly Lucas as well, if he was dismissed from the university because of it.

Which was why he had been thinking very carefully about something for quite some time now. And he was fairly sure that he had made a decision on the matter. It was not really anything he wanted to do, but at the same time…he felt like he had to. For both their sakes. What happened afterwards was still up in the air. But for once in this situation, he had to do the right thing.

For the Professor, moreso than for himself.

He smiled to himself, feeling both pleased and sad. At last, he was managing to do something unselfish. Too bad it had taken him this long to get his head in the right place.

"Lucas?" The Professor was talking to him now.

"Hmm?" he shook himself. "Sorry. I was daydreaming."

"This is not abnormal, my boy. I've had you in class," Leighton said. "I was just asking if you had any intention of jumping out of any further moving vehicles on the way back. If so, I was going to stop the Jeep for you and ask you to get it out of your system now before we proceed."

Lucas laughed and grinned wickedly. "I don't know, got pretty good results last time."

He was pleased when Leighton coughed and blushed, though he did not look displeased. "Well, I suppose that's a matter of perspective." Leighton's perspective was obviously not unhappy with the memory, that much was fairly obvious.

"Being back in civilization is going to be weird. I'm going to have the internet again!" Lucas said.

"Ah, your priorities are as sound as ever," the Professor said with a shake of the head.

Lucas smiled in return, again thinking of his plan.

It was the right thing to do, both for himself and for this wonderful man.

He slept on the plane, albeit fitfully, and had another dream. He was startled to hear the Professor admit to having a few dreams as well, of Layton and the girl who looked so much like Daisy Rainholt. He had dreamed of a moment when Layton had been forced to go and identify the body of a boy he knew who had drowned. And he had called the boy Luke.

It rang powerfully, painfully close to home, and Lucas shivered at the memory.

It didn't take a college professor and his brightest student to put all of the pieces together. Because of Lucas' own horrific nightmares, they knew that Luke had drowned, and they knew that Luke had been close to Layton. Professor Hershel Layton, it seemed, had been forced to actually provide an official identification of his young apprentice after the ship the boy was on had gone underwater.

Hearing how badly the experience had rattled Layton was both sombering and gratifying, in an odd way. Luke had meant a great deal to Layton, and the boy's death had broken his heart. And, he admitted, the more he thought about it all, the more he was sure that although he went on as normal, some part of the man had never quite gotten over the tragedy.

Lucas pointed out, in a quiet voice, that Professor Layton had meant everything to Luke. Even as he was dying, the child had not been calling for his parents or for help. He had wanted the Professor. That was evidence enough for them.

Neither of them were still entirely sure what to make of their memories, of who they had once been. But being able to talk about it and about the dreams that plagued them as they remembered the people they had once been helped a great deal.

Finally, after a long drive, an equally long plane ride, and another drive to deliver him back to his parents, Lucas was safely at home, and completely exhausted. After his parents greeted them and spoke with the Professor and thanked him for giving their son such a wonderful opportunity, Lucas waved goodbye to Professor Leighton and smiled as he watched the man drive away, knowing that it would be the last time he saw him, probably for a great while.

He was going inside to take a shower (although he had to admit that it would be quite some time before he was ever able to look at a shower stall the same way again). And then he was going to have something to eat and talk with his parents. He was going to unpack.

And then he had some paperwork to fill out.

_**-o-**_

_It has been weeks, and he is still thinking about it._

_She is trying to be brave, and having as little luck with it as he was. But it is all right for her. Society holds different rules and laws and thou shalt and thou shalt nots for women then for men, and gentlemen in particular. He was allowed a certain period of grieving, and that is all. She has far more leeway than he did to mourn and weep._

_But there are other ways to forget about things, and he is exploring as many of them as possible._

_He knows that she is worried about him now as well, and that she is fretting over how much he is burying himself in his work. Hiding his head in the sand was the phrase she used once to describe it. But by hiding himself in puzzles and mysteries and riddles and artifacts, he does not allow himself too much free time to think about other things._

_Things like the fact that his thirteen-year-old apprentice is dead._

_That he regrets letting the boy get on the boat in the first place._

_That he can't honestly remember if he ever actually told the boy that he was genuinely proud of him._

_That he is grieving less like a teacher for a student, and more like a father for a lost son…_

_The moments when those thoughts come are the worst because he cannot fight them off, and they come on strong and without warning. And those are the moments when he give into weakness and permits himself a less gentlemanly means of escape._

_They say that truth and enlightenment can be found at the bottom of a bottle, but all he finds there are headaches, slowed mental processes, and a very sad young woman standing over him in the morning._

_Time does dull the pain, but it never goes away like he feels it should. But there are far too many questions that will never have answered. If there's one thing that someone of his profession hates, it's a lack of answers. His apprentice would have teased him about being a detective, and he would have deferred on that, saying that he was no such thing._

_**Every puzzle has an answer.**_

_Except the question of what Luke would have grown up to become. Would he have gone into archaeology? Perhaps veterinary medicine, even; the boy always did have quite a way with animals. How many more puzzles would there have been? What else would there have been?_

_There are no answers to be found, not in puzzles or alcohol, or anywhere else. There is only a set of three graves, and a man who must now go to great lengths to hide the fact that something in him has broken for reasons he himself, in all his brilliance, cannot quite grasp./i_

_**-o-**_

Lucas heard about it all from Clark a few days after the semester had started.

It seemed that the Professor was, to say the least, shocked to learn of what he had done. Clark admittedly, with no little amount of surprise at the fact, that Leighton almost seemed to be angry down beneath his own surprise. That was what Lucas had really expected, both the emotion as described and the way it was expressed, or not expressed, as the case may be.

Still, it was for the best, Lucas decided, and thanked his friend again for helping.

"Hey, Luke?" Clark asked hesitantly after their phone conversation had moved on a bit and they had been talking for a while about other things.

"Yeah?"

"…what exactly happened between you and the Professor?" Clark asked.

Lucas was silent for a moment, trying to formulate an answer that wouldn't give anything away. Oh, he was fairly sure he could have told his friend what had happened and have it stay a secret. But that would be a betrayal, and he might not be a student in that school anymore, but he was not going to betray their secret to anyone.

That was one of the reasons why he had transferred to another school.

Finally, he replied, and he was surprised to hear himself chuckle. "Let's just say that it was a very interesting summer." He smiled at Clark's confused noise, and changed the subject. He would keep the secret, and wait until the time was right for anything else. "So how's Daisy?"


	11. Epilogue: Graduation

**AN: **And here we have the conclusion. Notes are at the end. I don't own Professor Layton.

**Epilogue: Graduation**

_Three years later…_

He hadn't even bothered to change clothes. All he had done was to remove his tie, his robe, and the stupid-looking graduation hat (he knew it had an actual name, but to his mind it was still just a really stupid hat) and toss them in the backseat before he started driving. His prize, the most thing he had been waiting for, was on the passenger seat beside him.

His parents had been surprised when he told them where he was going; he had never really given them a solid reason for his change of education venue. But he told them that he wanted to show the Professor that he had done it. Their conversation on the plane on the way to Mexico flew back to him, where he had told the man that he was the first person in his family to go to college. Even if the door was slammed in his face, he wanted to show the Professor the diploma.

The drive took far longer than he thought it would, but finally he found the house. Clark (also a new college graduate with a degree in quantum physics under his belt) had been helpful in the endeavor, seeming to accept the explanations as Lucas gave them.

Although Lucas really had to wonder if Clark suspected anything. He certainly wasn't stupid, though he sometimes acted like it. But if he did suspect, he was keeping it to himself, something that Lucas was immeasurably grateful for.

After he parked the car and turned off the ignition, Lucas sat there for a moment, the all-important piece of paper in his hands. The Professor's car was parked in front (the Leightonmobile, he had jokingly called it), and there was a light on in the front window. All signs pointed to someone being home.

And of course he was picking now to have second thoughts. What if the Professor had found someone else? What if the door was, as previously thought, slammed in his face? What if Leighton didn't want to see him? What if his transfer was taken as running away and…

…at the same time, what if the Professor had missed him as much as he had missed the Professor?

He had to knock on that door.

Lucas got out of the car and walked stiffly up to the front door. He paused there for a moment to make sure he looked presentable, still in the khakis, white shirt, and blue blazer he had donned for his walk across the stage. Finally satisfied, he gripped the diploma…

And rang the doorbell.

Time stood still, and he nearly fled.

But before he could actually do it and let the moment become a silly practical joke, the door opened.

Leighton gaped at him for a long moment before finally managing, "…L-Lucas?"

He had rehearsed what he was going to say, practiced it in the car. Now his mind went blank. At a complete loss, he shoved the diploma at the man. "I did it," he said. "I did it."

The Professor took it, looked at it, looked back at Lucas, obviously unsure of what to make of it all.

"First person in my family to graduate from college," he said, not quite able to keep himself from smiling, even in the face of the Professor's shock. He felt like a moron, but he kept talking. "I'm twenty-two now, Professor. And I'm not a student anymore." His smile faded, and he swallowed hard, hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Not a student anymore. Yours or anyone else's."

Professor Leighton stared at him for a moment longer before it seemed to dawn. He slowly passed the diploma back to the new graduate, still visibly uncertain as to what in blazes he should do.

But there was something there, smothered in the man's eyes, that gave Lucas hope, and he swallowed hard and took the risk. "You know, Professor…" he cleared his throat in an attempt to remove the lump that had decided to lodge itself there, "…I really have missed your tea." _Please understand, please understand, please please please…_

Leighton tensed.

…and just as Lucas was about to turn and run and try to make himself forget that any of this had ever happened (a hopeless endeavor, to be sure—there was no way he would ever forget that summer), Leighton spoke. "Lucas…my boy," he said slowly, and the familiar term of endearment made something inside him do a backflip, "…would you like to come in?"

The words were music to Lucas' ears. He smiled. "Yes, Professor. I'd like that."

Leighton stepped aside at the acceptance, and gestured for the young man to enter. Lucas stepped past, into the house, and Leighton closed the door behind them.

_**-o-**_

"Funny…" Lucas murmured happily, stretching his arms over his head before letting them fall back against the pillow. "I distinctly remember saying that I missed the tea."

The Professor, sprawled on his stomach beneath the comforter on the other side of the bed, mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow. Lucas chuckled and happy snuggled down under the brown and cream striped comforter, enjoying the fact that it had the man's scent.

When he had come here to show the Professor what he had accomplished, the idea that this could theoretically happen had crossed his mind, but he had dismissed it. After all this time, with no contact and no explanation as to why he had transferred and apparently run away, it seemed extremely unlikely that Leighton would want anything of the sort.

…apparently, Lucas had been a tiny bit mistaken on that count, considering that he had been in the house for all of about two minutes before they both kind of…lunged. Then he was kissing the Professor and the Professor was kissing him, and he was being pulled up the stairs. And the rest was, for lack of a better word, history. Still, it was really quite a pleasant surprise to find that Leighton had missed him that much, as much as he had missed Leighton. And so here they were.

"I missed this too, though, if it makes you feel better," Lucas added.

"Lucas…" Leighton said, having turned his head to look directly at his former student. "Hush."

In spite of the half-growled order, Lucas couldn't help but laugh and scoot over a little closer. "Aww, don't be sore." He flashed a shark-like grin. "I think that's my job, all things considered."

Leighton groaned and replanted his face in the pillow. "You will be the death of me, my boy."

"What a way to go."

There was a pause, long and comfortable, during which both just lay there in the afterglow (and was it ever nice to be able to actually enjoy the moment, rather than having to get back in a Jeep or rush to separate beds at separate ends of a camper to avoid discovery). This was nice. This was wonderful.

And then Leighton turned his head again. "Lucas, I do have a question."

Now it was Lucas' turn to be startled. "Hmm?"

"…you left," Leighton said simply. "Without a word. I was hoping there was a reason, and that you might explain it to me?" Was it just Lucas' imagination, or did the Professor actually sound a little bit…sad as he asked the question?

Honestly, Lucas had known that this was coming, and he had been waiting for it. He had just rather thought that it would come before anything else. Instead, a mutual glance and a mutual understanding had landed them in bed when they had barely gotten past the initial pleasantries.

He sat up in bed, absently tugging the blanket up around his waist. He could feel the Professor's eyes on his back, and the question still lingered in the air, expectant. And Lucas said quietly, "I actually knew I was going to transfer out before we even left the site." He leaned back against the headboard, tilting his head back against the wall to look up at the ceiling. "I was thinking about it on the way back. And when we got back, I went home and started getting stuff taken care of."

"Why?"

"…for you."

"What?"

"For you," Lucas shrugged, knowing full well that he was about to sound like some lovesick schoolgirl. "I—what happened between us while we were at the dig…there was no way I was going to forget it. Especially a certain couple of nights." No elaboration needed there. "But you were right, no matter how much I hated it. If someone had found out, it would have ruined you. And I couldn't let that happen, no matter what. So I did what made sense to me at the time." He looked down at the Professor now, unsure of what he would see in the man's face. "I ran."

To his surprise, there was no anger there. Just a tinge of that same sadness, like what he had heard in the man's voice when he had asked that question, and almost a sort of relief at the answer. "Why didn't you say anything?" Leighton asked, then winced and murmured an unconscious echo of Lucas' earlier thoughts, "I sound like some sort of lovesick fool…"

Lucas grinned, although the word 'lovesick' did cause an odd little flutter. "Because I was afraid that you might try to stop me. And because I didn't think that I would be able to go through with it if you did try to stop me. So I went for the clean break, and just hoped that eventually you would understand." The grin softened to a softer smile. "I did miss you a lot, though. The other professors weren't as awesome as you, and they didn't have comfortable couches in their office. I couldn't find anywhere to study."

"I'm glad to see I have a niche to fill," Leighton murmured.

"…are you angry?" Lucas asked after a moment.

"…I was," Leighton admitted. "More upset, really." He sounded like he didn't want to really be discussing this, not that Lucas blamed him. And his next quick words confirmed it. "But might-have-been's don't mend the broken pot, as they say. No sense in lingering on it."

Lucas slid back down under the blankets and turned to lay on his stomach, pressing a kiss to the back of Leighton's bare shoulder before leaning his cheek there. One hand began tracing invisible patterns on warm skin. "I'm sorry. But I'm also not. Because I know I did the right thing."

A sigh, a murmur, and a long silence spent curled like that. Lucas closed his eyes and drifted a bit, simply enjoying the sound of the man's breathing. He had officially become one of those morons you always saw in trashy romance novels, people who threw away everything for love and refused to believe or acknowledge that something might not be possible.

…but he was also no longer bothered by the fact that he admitted to loving the man lying beside him.

"I was thinking about something." Leighton spoke up so suddenly that Lucas nearly jumped.

"What?" he asked, lifting his head.

"…about Professor Layton. Hershel Layton, I mean," the Professor said, shifting to fold his arms against the pillow and rest his chin on them. "And his apprentice, Luke. And the things you told me regarding the dreams you'd had about them."

Ah, yes, the dreams. The first step towards what now was. "What about them?"

"Well, if we are those two men," Leighton went on, "and mind you, I still think that is a bit hard to swallow, regardless of whether or not it explains everything. But if we are them, I can't help but wonder what they would think of things as they are now." There was no need to elaborate on what he meant by that; it was perfectly clear.

Lucas thought back to those dreams, to what he knew about Luke and what he felt from Luke and what he had gleaned from the boy's thoughts. And he closed his eyes and again let his cheek rest against the Professor's shoulder. "I think I told you this already, but Luke thought the world of Layton. He really loved the man."

"He was a child."

"Puppy love doesn't hurt any less than quote-unquote 'real' love, Professor," Lucas pointed out. "Just because it's not something adults take seriously doesn't mean that it's not a real feeling. It can still hurt a lot, sometimes even more."

"…is this the voice of experience?"

"I was in third grade, she was a fifth grader. Let's leave it at that."

"I see."

"So in light of that," Lucas dragged the conversation back to the topic at hand, "I think Luke would be okay with all of this." That was an understatement, but Luke had also been probably thirteen years old when he had died, and so the chance of fantasy equaling reality was fairly well nigh. "I mean, he already lost the guy once. You know the saying about those who fail to learn from history, blah blah blah."

"You realize that that is an extremely misquoted line," Leighton said, for a moment slipping back into his Teacher Voice (which Lucas now found inexplicably hot). "What George Santayana actually wrote was 'Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.'"

"…at what head injury in my life did I decide that falling for a genius was a good idea?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you there."

"Anyway, what about Layton?"

"…I have no idea what Layton would have to say about it, to be frank," Leighton admitted after a long quiet moment. "I still don't believe this whole reincarnation nonsense—"

"Point made."

"—but for the sake of discussion, if you are the person that Luke would have grown up to become had he lived…" And it was there that the Professor trailed off, leaving the rest of the thought unvoiced. There was a moment of silence before he cleared his throat and shifted. "But again, a crush is merely that. A crush. An infatuation with someone he admired. Nothing more."

"You're going to tell me you have never had a crush on anyone ever, right?" Lucas teased, managing to roll Leighton onto his side so he could look at him properly.

"You talk too much, my boy."

It was then that Lucas decided he was feeling saucy again, and smirked. "I'm sorry. Is there something you'd rather I be doing with my mouth?" Oh, he was going straight to hell for this, he was sure he was.

Leighton's face went from normal to crimson in the time it took for Lucas to blink, his expression frozen. And there was another indication, also non-verbal, that this was not a bad idea at all. And for once, at long last, there really was no rush, no need to hurry.

Lucas smirked and pounced, rolling the man onto his back. "I see. Well, if you say so."

"I didn't say so."

"…just shut up, already."

No need to rush.

They had plenty of time.

* * *

**PS.** _It's done it's done oh goodness it's done _ I really did have a good time with this story, and it's brought me over to Legal!Luke/Layton. Have mercy...oh! And I've been meaning to toss this out there, but I do have a mental theme song for this story. It's called "I've Been Here Before," and it's the second half of a two-song medley from the musical __**Closer Than Ever.**__ You can give 'em both a listen on YouTube. I prefer the original cast recording :3_

_Thank you all for reading, and for your wonderful comments. Much love!_


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